beneath the spotlight
by popcorn3902
Summary: a destiel love story "Castiel wipes his paintbrush clean before dipping it into the lightened raw umber acrylic paint and brushing it onto the canvas"
1. The Drummer

Castiel wipes his paintbrush clean before dipping it into the lightened raw umber acrylic paint and brushing it onto the canvas. He wets his brush and brings it back into the paint to thin it out, and moves his brush elegantly, connecting the lines. He grabs a palette knife and adds titanium white, mixing the two colours together and adds a dollop of violet until he is satisfied with the taupe colour he's created. He grabs a round tipped brush and starts to create the base colour of his lilacs, when his phone rings.

He lets out a short sigh and a tight eye roll as he places his brush back into his water, and wipes his hands on his apron before pulling out is phone, frowning at the small thumbprint of paint residue on the bottom corner of his phone. He swipes the call open.

"Inias," he greets his best friend. He grabs a clean paintbrush and plays with the dry bristles to keep his hands busy, holding the phone between his ear and his shoulder.

"Hey Cas! What are you doing?"

"You called me during my studio time…what do you think I'm doing?" He says it lightly.

He sits down on his chair and swivels himself around, ignoring the stares of his fellow classmates.

"Oh you're still there? Shit sorry. I can call back later."

"No it's fine," Castiel pulls back his sleeve and glances at his watch, the paintbrush in his hand nearly knocking his glasses off. "I needed to start packing up soon anyways. Did you need anything?"

He shakes his sleeve down and listens.

"Yeah, well—I know you probably won't want to come, but Gabriel texted me earlier today and told me about this band playing at The Backstage Lounge tonight."

Castiel hums. His brother often goes there, and tries to drag Castiel along every time. Now it seems Gabriel is using Inias to make him want to go out more than he never does. He rubs his the bridge of his nose with his free hand and suppresses a sigh.

"These guys are supposed to be pretty good," Inias continues. "I can't remember what their name is but they've been doing lots of shows around town lately."

Castiel drops his hand to his side and stands up to grab his paint water.

"I don't know Inias," he says as he walks over to the sink and dumps his water. He begins washing his brushes, squeezing out any excess paint and watching it travel towards the drain before drying them on his apron and walking back to his easel to pack up the rest of his things.

"Come on, Cas. Younevercome out."

"Yeah and there are reasons for that." Castiel put his paints and brushes in his drawer and made sure it was locked before taking off his apron.

"Ah, Cas don't worry—that won't happen again, okay?" Castiel can tell Inias is getting desperate.

He stands before his station and sighs again. Anxiety crawls up his throat, but he chokes it down.

"Ugh,fine, Inias. I'll go out tonight. But if things start to get shady, I'm leaving."

"The Backstage Lounge is a pretty chill place, Cas. I know you'll like it."

"Okay." Castiel can hear how unconvinced he sounds, and he shakes his head even though he knows Inias can't see him. "What time are we supposed to be there?"

"Band is going on at eight, so whenever really."

Castiel grabs his coat from behind his chair and shrugs it on, walking towards the studio doors.

"Where are you right now? Are you at the university?" Castiel grabs the door handle and pushes it open.

"Yeah, I'm outside your—" Inias cuts himself off as Castiel turns out of the studio to find Inias standing in front of him. "Hi."

Castiel gives him a deadpan expression. He hangs up his phone. "Were you outside this whole time?"

"Maybe."

Castiel rolls his eyes. He starts to walk down the corridor towards the exit and Inias follows. When they reach the doors, Castiel can see that outside the sun is shining, for once. Vancouver is bleak and grey most days.

"I need to get back to my place and shower before we go out," Castiel mentions, looking at his paint-stained hands and noticing a smear of paint up his arm from when he had his sleeves rolled up. He glances around as they step outside and can see traffic backing up along Granville Bridge and he checks his watch again. 5:33 PM. He starts making his way towards the bus stop.

"Don't worry," Inias notices him. "We're not going to take that shit bus back to your place."

Castiel stops in his tracks and looks back at Inias earnestly. "You didn't," he starts.

"Oh, I did." Inias pulls out a set of keys out his jean pocket and dangles it in front of him. "My uncle let me borrow it for the day."

Inias shoves Castiel's shoulder and turns him towards the water, where Granville Island rests its shoulders against to see a white jet boat tied down to the dock.

"There she is!" Inias cries. "I'm gonna have to convince him to let me keep it."

Castiel huffs out a small laugh in disbelief. Inias walks past him and unties the ropes.

"Get in!" he says. Castiel obliges and steps into the boat.

Soon they are pulling away from the dock and making their way across False Creek towards Castiel's apartment complex. They are there faster than Castiel has ever been and he thinks to himself that he's going to need to invest in getting a boat because the half hour bus ride twice a day to make it across the water in less than ten minutes by boat is staggering. Hecouldtake the ferry, he remembers—but then he'd have to walk, and Castiel hates being late as it is, so walking would only make it more strenuous on himself.

They pull up to the docks and tie down, with only a five minute walk from Castiel's apartment, the humid air making the evening hot on Castiel's back. It's the fastest Castiel has ever been home.

"So I was thinking," Inias starts as they walk up to his apartment building, "that we could get there at a decent time and grab a table, get some food, what do you think?"

Castiel nods and opens the main door to his apartment.

"I suppose that'll work," he replies.

They take the elevator up to the 14th floor and walk up to Castiel's place. He slides his key in and opens the door, watching as the orange sunlight pours in from the skyline view of his living room, the light glinting off his stainless steel appliances in his kitchen, and shining off the glass table top. It's a view Castiel knows he'll never get tired of looking at.

Inias makes himself comfortable on the couch while Castiel makes his way to his bedroom and strips out of his sweat dampened clothes. He walks into his en suite bathroom and starts the shower, the water instantly hot. He takes his glasses off before he climbs in.

When he emerges, he hears Inias talking to someone who would be no one other than Gabriel, his brother, who also happens to live with him. Castiel puts on a clean pair of boxer briefs and loose shirt. He finds a nice pair of dark jeans and pulls them on. He leaves his shirt untucked, and figures to wait and see what his brother is going to wear out before they leave.

He finds the two of them sitting on the couch watching some inappropriate cartoon and doubling over, laughing. He walks into the kitchen instead, and grabs himself a glass of water.

"Cassie, can you grab me a beer?" Gabriel calls to him.

Castiel opens the fridge. "There is none."

"What?! I thought I just bought some!" Gabriel gets off the couch and stands beside Castiel, who is undoubtedly looking at a case of beer. Gabriel scoffs and grabs a bottle. "You ass."

Castiel smiles and turns away from his brother, walking over to sit next to Inias, and watches as Gabriel twists off the bottle cap and comes around couch. Castiel tries to trip him.

"Fuck off, Cas."

Inias laughs and kicks Gabriel in the shin.

"Jesus, what is it? 'Pick on Gabriel Day' today?" Gabriel huffs as he sits down, and takes a long swig of his beer.

Inias and Castiel look at each other and snicker. Bugging Gabriel has been their thing since they were kids. They've been friends for as long as Castiel can remember. Throughout the trials of high school, they've been by each other's sides. But Inias has also been Castiel's only friend. Sure, there were people who were friendly to him, and that he enjoyed being around, but none of them werereallyhis friends. He just knows how lucky he is to have someone like Inias.

They sit and watch TV until Gabriel says its time to get pretty and leave. Castiel settles for a dark grey dress shirt. He tucks it in and leaves the top buttons undone, while rolling his sleeves up. He threads a leather belt through his jeans and puts on his black leather shoes. He opts for contacts instead, but hangs his glasses over the opening of his shirt, and stuffs his contact lens case into his pocket. He runs a quick hand through some pomade to set his hair and sprays a bit of cologne on his neck before grabbing his coat from behind his door.

"Damn baby brother, you're looking dapper!" Gabriel teases him when Castiel leaves his bedroom. He wraps an arm around Castiel's neck and tugs him in for a jostle. "That grey really brings out thefascinatingcolours of your eyes!"

"Fuck you—at least I don't look like a lumberjack," Castiel shrugs out of him and pushes him away. Gabriel laughs.

"Hey, the ladies love the plaid." Gabriel pretends to lick his fingers and proceeds to rub them over his nipples. "I can't keep them off me!"

Inias laughs at him and shakes his head. Gabriel stops touching himself and scratches at his neck beard. Castiel just raises an eyebrow at him.

"What! It's true." Gabriel holds out his arms as if to make a point.

Castiel snorts while he opens the front door, and they make their way down the hall, his fingers jittering by his side all the way down the elevator.

Castiel finds himself sitting inside The Backstage Lounge a mere twenty minutes later, with having taken the jet boat across the water and docking it under Granville Bridge, they sat themselves at a table not far from the stage. The noise of jumbled conversations surrounds them and Castiel checks his watch. It's just after 7:00 PM. He looks around the dimly lit room where he watches the bartender pour drinks for waiting customers and servers.

A waitress eventually comes around and takes their drink orders and gives them all menus. Inias orders a rum and coke, while Gabriel sticks to beer. Castiel orders himself a glass of water, and his brother stops the waitress and orders him a vodka slime to go along with it. Castiel grimaces.

"Don't worry, they're better than they sound," Gabriel assures him.

The music playing through the sound system is an unfamiliar alternative/rock-sounding band that Castiel doesn't know, and if he was honest, doesn't quite like—so he's hoping that the band playing tonight is better than the one on the speakers.

He mindlessly flips through the menu and decides that a salad is probably his best choice. The waitress returns with their drinks.

"Cas, get something thatisn'ta salad for once in your damn life," Gabriel bashes him. "Live a little! Be bold! Be wild!"

Castiel shrugs a shoulder and sips on his water.

"Hey! I know!" Gabriel pipes up, tapping the back of his hand to Castiel's elbow. "Why don't you get the saladwithoutcroutons? That should liven it up a bit!"

Inias laughs, taking a sip of his drink.

"Shut up Gabriel," Castiel shakes his head, a smile lifting at the corners of his mouth.

Inias and Gabriel order wings, burgers, and fries, while Castiel sticks to his salad. Hedoesorder it with croutons,anda toast. See? The toast is something new, he considers. Gabriel urges him to try the vodka slime that's sitting in front of him, and the green drink taunts him. He sips at it slowly and decides that it isn't as bad as the name, and decides to keep it.

They talk about university and upcoming exams over their food. Castiel is fortunate, with being a full time art student, the only midterm exam he has to worry about is Art History, and he knows it's something he wouldn't even have to study for. The rest of his exams are project based, and one of them is still-life painting, which he was working on earlier today."Okay, so who's the guy that did that one painting of the girl with the diamond earring or whatever?" Gabriel tries.

"You're lucky I have a very broad understanding of art history to have even theslightestinkling of who the fuck you're talking about," Castiel yells over the music. He is on his fourth vodka slime, and so far his water remains hardly untouched. "And it's thepearlearring," he adds so matter-of-factly.

"Then who is it?" Gabriel challenges him.

"Johannes Vermeer," Castiel answers boldly, mimicking Gabriel's tone. He knows he's right. "1665, oil on canvas."

"You're wrong!"

"I am not!" Castiel argues, taken aback.

"It's that Bernini guy." Gabriel jabs a finger at Castiel's general direction, for reasons Castiel cannot think of.

"What the fuck—Gabriel," Castiel sits back in his chair and holds his hand out in front of him with frustration. "Bernini was asculptor. And fuck you! You're not even an art student!" He huffs out a breath. "And it'sVermeer!"

Gabriel laughs into his beer.

"Oh brother, you aresucha fucking nerd."

Castiel shoots a glare at him and downs the rest of his drink, pretending not to care.

Just before 8:00, Castiel can see the band members setting up their instruments. It's all shadows and some bustling around. There are some people that start filing down to the floor in front of the stage. Castiel has to give his brother some credit; they have pretty good seats and Castiel can see the stage perfectly, even with the crowd forming ahead.

"Showtime!" Gabriel cries out. He orders a round of shots for the three of them and settles chair while he waits for them to arrive.

"I don't really need any more liquor, Gabriel," Castiel reminds him. "I think I've had enough now."

"You're not even drunk!" Gabriel exclaims.

The music playing in the speakers stops playing, and the lights on the stage slowly fade on. The crowd starts to clap and cheer as the frontman starts to play a guitarriff. The whole band comes together seamlessly. Castiel even finds himself bobbing his head with the beat. The singer comes centre stage, and is a girl with red hair. Her voice is powerful, and beautiful. Castiel can't take his eyes off her as she bounces between verses, and belts out each note effortlessly. It's not much of Castiel's style of music, but Inias was right—the band is good, and it's only the first song Castiel hears. He watches as the guitarists play off each other, the bassist nodding along. He can't see much of the drummer, the lighting on the singer is too much contrast for him to get a good look, but he likes their drumming.

"Explain to me this conspiracy against me. Yeah…and tell me how I lost my power, oh yeah."

The song comes to an end and the crowd screams and cheers. Gabriel puts two fingers in his mouth to whistle and even Castiel claps. The waitress returns with their shots, and somehow Castiel has another vodka slime in front of him. He frowns at Gabriel but takes it anyway.

"Cheers brothers!" Gabriel says as he picks up his shot. The three of them all down them all at once and Castiel has to stifle a cough.

"What wasthat?" he asks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and chasing his shot with his drink.

"Tequila," Gabriel says smugly, wiggling his eyebrows at him. Castiel tries not to grimace.

The band starts up their nextsong, and it's a blonde girl in the spotlight. She carries a white electric guitar and plays the opening chords.

"Somebody mixed my medicine…" she sings. The drums come in and it's a good beat. "…so hold me tight!"

The rest of the band comes in and the crowd goes wild. The song is inappropriate, in Castiel's opinion, but she sings it well. It's more grungier than the first song, and a bit heavier. The lyrics are something about receiving the wrong drug, and Castiel isn't sure how he feels about it. Something about a tiger in the room and a baby in the closet? What is this song even about?

He decides he likes the first one better, but the girl sings it well.

As the song nears its end, the crowd is jumping to the beat, and waving their hands up in the air. It comes to an abrupt halt and everyone screams. The band is good, Castiel admits to himself as he takes a drink. Inias is cheering loudly and clapping. The band takes no break in between this and the nextsong; this time, a tall skinny guy with short light brown hair takes the spotlight. Castiel can see the girl with the red hair take the spot at the keyboard as the song comes together. There is another guitarist over to the side with dark hair that is in his own world, rocking out to the music and playing along with character.

The man singing has a light voice, and Castiel quite likes it. The style of the song is much different than the first two, and he enjoys this one the best, he finds. He taps his feet along with the beat, and drums his fingers against his glass.

Halfway through the song, the band joins together and sings "oh woah, oh" and it gets the audience going, everyone yelling along. The beat of the drums are solid and it makes Castiel feel good. The chorus comes up again and Castiel even finds himself humming along with the tune.

"I'm a thief, and I'll take you!" the man sings as he finishes the song. Everyone cheers, and Castiel yells out in his applause.

The stage lights up and Castiel can finally see each of the members, aside from the drummer, who remains seated behind the drum set, a cymbal getting in the way of his face.

"How's it going Backstage Lounge!" the blonde girl yells into the microphone. "I'm Jo Harvelle, and we're Beneath The Spotlight!"

The crowd screams out; Castiel claps along and Gabriel whistles.

She continues, "By now you've heard a few completely different styled songs, and I'll be honest—we're a bit of a weird group."

Some of the crowd laughs, others yell "fuck ya!" and whistle.

Jo chuckles with them before she explains, "We've got a lot of different styles and we thought instead of trying to find a style we couldallagree on, we would bring something unique to the band, which would be ourselves. It sounds kinda lame when I put it that way, but we're a talented bunch—and I'm not just saying that. We all sing, we all play various instruments and we all write our own songs. We've got a good show set for tonight, and we even have a couple covers just for fun, so let's get to it!"

She steps back from the mic and the crowd cheers.

The man who was just singing steps into the mic. His guitar swings on his shoulders and he rests his hand against the strap.

"I'm Adam Milligan, and I thought I would take a second to introduce the rest of the band here for you guys," he pauses to point, "To my right, with the fiery red hair, is the lovely Charlotte "Charlie" Bradbury on lead vocals, keyboard, and a little guitar as well."

Charlie gives a shy wave and stands behind the keyboard and the audience applauds and whistles.

"To my left," Adam continues, "on rhythm guitar, back vocals, and even some keyboard action is Mr. Aaron Bass."

The man with the dark hair waves and takes a small bow and everyone cheers for him.

"He's good with his fingers, ladies—I should add," Adam says almost inaudible and he starts to laugh. Castiel sees Aaron rolling his head back and turning his body away from the audience, shoulders shaking with laughter.

"Next to Aaron is our very sexy, very mysterious, Halifax born bass player Benny Lafitte!"

Everyone goes wild, and Benny gives a small salute to the crowd and places his hands on his bass guitar.

Adam quirks up a smile. "He sings too, ladies. He sings, too."

Some women scream out dramatically for attention and Castiel snickers, rolling his eyes.

"You guys know Jo, and you know me. But who youdon'tknow is the man you've all been waiting for. The man that without him, we would cease to be. He is our glue, he is our brains, and he is our fearless drummer, Mr. Dean Winchester!"

The drummer finally stands up to wave at the audience, his drumsticks still in his hands, and Castiel stops breathing. He stares at the man. His sandy hair is spiked and pushed to the side, his scruff traces his jawline, down his neck. The crowd screams in praise and Castiel finds himself unable to take his eyes off of him. There is sweat beading down his forehead and he can see it dripping down his neck, and Castiel just wants to lick it. He finally lets out the breath of air he was holding in and takes a drink of his water that sat untouched for ages and has now become lukewarm and stale tasting.

Dean sits back down and Castiel curses the cymbal for getting in his way.

"Like Jo said, we've got a great set for you guys tonight, and we hope you enjoy it. Here's our next song calledFire!"

Dean starts off the song by tapping his drumsticks together and rolls into the song. Adam plays the lead guitar while Jo and Aaron play the riffs. Charlie plays the violin setting on the keyboard. It's very upbeat and has the entire crowd jumping along. Castiel can't take his eyes off of Dean Winchester. Every once and a while when he hits the cymbal, Castiel gets a glimpse of him.

The whole band sings, "Fire!" and it's hard not to sing along. Castiel tries to focus on each band member as they jump along with the crowd. He starts to clap with the song, and decides thatthisone is his favourite.

The song comes to a halt as it finishes, and everyone yells and claps.

"Thank you," Adam says. "This next song is gonna be taken by my wingman over here, Aaron. He's got a song for you guys."

Aaron steps out from his corner of the stage to take the centre.

"Thanks Adam," Aaron pauses, "This one is a little bit slower than what you've heard tonight, and I hope you guys like it. It's calledNirvana."

People in the crowd whistle and cheer. Aaron counts into the song as the band starts. Castiel enjoys it instantly. Jo wasn't kidding when she said they all have different styles, and he thinks that it makes them unlike any band he's ever heard.

Aaron's voice is soft and husky, blending perfectly with the song. He hits higher notes than Castiel wouldn't have expected from him, and he can hear some people scream as the chorus starts.

"Will you take me to Nirvana? I don't think this will last, but you're here in my arms…"

"They're fucking good, eh!" Gabriel yells over to him.

"They are," Castiel agrees. He taps his fingers on his lap. He takes a large swig of his drink and can start to feel the buzz.

When the song ends, Castiel finds himself cheering the loudest from their corner of the bar.

"Thanks you guys," Aaron says bashfully.

"How about Aaron, you guys!" Jo takes the mic. The crowd screams. "This next song is one that I've been working on for a while, and I'm gonna let the band take a little break and it's just gonna be me for this song, I hope that's okay. It's calledGhost."

Jo sits on a stool in the middle of the stage, her white electric guitar in her lap. She picks at her guitar, creating an low and quiet atmosphere that's new to the scene. It's a slow song, and it's quite beautiful. The rest of the band members sit in the darkened areas of the stage and Castiel can see the outline of Dean's shoulders behind the drum kit.

"I swear I hate you when you leave, but I like it anyway…"

"Isn't that the truth," Inias says, taking a drink. By this point he's moved on to beer, and he tips it up in cheers before he sets it back down.

Castiel nods in agreement, but if he was being honest, he has no idea what Inias was talking about. Castiel hasn't had much for relationships, aside from a few, but he pretends to go along with it.

When she finishes, she stands up and takes a small bow while the audience applauses her loudly, whistling and screaming. The rest of the band comes up and gets back into position. Charlie takes the spotlight and is at the key board; she counts in for Adam to startplaying. It's slower too, and also has an ambient feel to it. Charlie's voice fills it perfectly.

"Setting fire to our insides for fun…" Dean starts to lightly tap a cymbal, building the song up. "…collecting names of the lovers that went wrong, the lovers that wrong."

It crashes down and Dean rolls the drums through a repetitive pattern; Charlie plays solid notes on the keyboard; Adam plays the lead electric guitar while Aaron plays another part; Jo is focused on some percussion to fill in with Dean; Benny rocks his head as he plays bass.

"…and you caused it."

Castiel is enjoying himself. The song ends after a roll of the drums and he finds himself clapping before it's even finished, Gabriel whistling between his fingers.

"Thanks everyone," Charlie says. "I think it's Benny's turn, isn't it?"

"Oh, I believe it is," Adam taunts into his mic. "Give it up for our bass man, Benny!"

The crowd cheers and Benny comes in, giving everyone a small wave.

"Alright you guys. Calm down," Benny jokes. "Here's one for ya. It's called SuburbanWar."

Adam starts playing the opening of the song. Benny comes in with his bass, and Dean begins on the drums. Jo and Adam play their guitars, and Charlie is on the keyboard still, filling the void with ambience. Benny's voice is airy, but deep. It's unlike any of the other members' and Castiel finds that he likes it. Everyone in the band sings in the back along with him.

The song picks up and Dean starts drumming faster, with more complex patterns, it builds and builds with the band and Castiel rocks himself forward to the beat.

"All my friends, they don't know me now…"

The crowd is jumping along until the song ends, and it erupts throughout the Lounge.

"Thank you," Benny says deeply.

"Give it up for Benny!" Adam yells. "Now. We've got a treat for you guys. He doesn't sing much, and he doesn't have his own song to play for you yet, but I know he will soon. Singing a Beatles cover, let's give a big hand to our drummer Dean Winchester!"

Castiel freezes. He watches as Dean stands up and walks around the drum set. He stands in the middle of the stage, with a mic already in his hand. Dean is tall, with broad shoulders, and he just might be the most beautiful thing Castiel has ever seen.

"Uh, thanks Adam," Dean says shyly. His voice is husky all on its own and Castiel tries hard not to swoon. He takes a drink of his vodka slime. Dean clears his throat. "This is one of my favourite songs, and I hope you like it. It's calledSomething."

Dean opens his mouth and starts singing and Castiel's jaw drops. Charlie and Aaron plays two separate keyboard parts and it's just the three of them together. Adam comes in with the guitar and Benny plays the bass between the verses. Dean walks around the stage through the next verse, the spotlight following him. He brings himself behind the drum kit and clips the mic to his mic stand while he lightly hits a cymbal and slowly rolls the drums.

"You're asking me will my love grow…I don't know, I don't know." He drums perfectly and the crowd cheers loudly. "You stick around now it may show…I don't know, I don't know."

The song goes into an interlude and it's melodic and perfect, and Castiel can't stop staring at Dean, whenever he gets a glimpse of him. It unfortunately comes to an end, and Castiel claps and yells loudly.Thathas now become his favourite song, he decides.

"How about Dean Winchester everybody!" Adam calls out. The audience screams in response. Dean stands up and gives a bashful wave and smile before hiding himself behind his drums. "We've got a couple more songs to do—this has been a lot of fun, you guys are awesome, and we can't wait to come back here again! This one I'll be taking the reins and I think Charlie is gonna play some harmonica for us. We hope you enjoy! This is California On MyMind."

Adam sings and plays his guitar, "Give me a lake that I can dive into, bury my head in the shit at the bottom.Fuck today, fuck San Francisco, fuck California!"

Dean hits the drums and Charlie comes in with the harmonica, and Castiel smiles. He likes it. The song is upbeat and the crowd is jumping with the band. Benny is playing an intricate bass line and having a hell of a time, swinging himself around and dancing. The whole band is dancing, now that Castiel looks.

"I realized I never gave you a chance…I realize I never gave you romance."

In the middle of the song they all sing some "ooh's" and Castiel finds himself singing along, even though he knows he probably sounds terrible, with not being able to hear himself properly. He doesn't care. A smile stretches wide across his face and he lets himself feel the music.

The song ends and Castiel cheers along with the rest of the audience. Gabriel and Inias are yelling words that Castiel can't even understand. He laughs and yells too.

"Alright, time for somerealfun," Adam chuckles into the mic. "Here's a good old tune, our last song of the night. I know you all know it. I need everyone up and singing this song. Thanks for coming out tonight, you're all amazing and we'll see you next time. Dean! Take it away!"

Dean starts a fast paced drumbeat.

"Are you ready Aaron?" Adam says.

"Uh huh!"

"Benny?"

"Yeah!"

"Charlie?"

"Okay!"

"Alright Jo, let's goooo!"

The guitars come in and Castiel recognizes the song instantly—an old rock tune he remembers Gabriel playing when they were kids. They all start to clap along and sing.

"Ballroom blitz! Ballroom blitz!" the crowd screams along. Suddenly Castiel, Gabriel, and Inias are on their feet, jumping to the beat. It's the most fun Castiel has had in what seems like forever. They all sing along with song until their voices run hoarse.

Castiel watches Dean as he rolls the drums and he can't take his eyes off of him. He swears he can see his sweat gleaming and dripping each time Dean moves. It's the hottest thing Castiel has ever seen in his life. He can really start to feel the alcohol now that he's up and moving and he laughs to himself. The song comes to a sharp end and everyone screams so loud, Castiel is sure his ears will be ringing for days.

"Thank you Backstage Lounge! Goodnight!" Adam yells over everyone.

"Thank you all for coming and have a good night!" Jo takes the mic.

"We'll see you next time!" Charlie waves to everyone.

"See you all later! Party at Benny's!" Aaron jokes.

"What!" Castiel can hear faintly behind Aaron.

"I'm just kidding, thanks you guys!" Aaron says before he gives a wave.

"See you guys, thanks for coming," Benny says gruffly into the mic.

Dean steps around from the drums and waves. He doesn't say anything and Castiel frowns at the missed opportunity to hear his voice again.

"Was that a fucking show or what!" Gabriel yells across the table as they sit back down. Castiel's heart is racing. "What's with your face?"

"What?" he turns towards his brother.

"You look frazzled."

"I'm notfrazzled," Castiel lies. He looks around the room for solace and decides he needs some air. "I'm gonna go outside for a bit."

He stands up and can hear Gabriel telling Inias, "He's frazzled." Inias laughs.

When Castiel steps outside, the air is much cooler than it was when they arrived, and the sky is black, the smog of the city blocking any chance of seeing the stars, but he knows the sky is clear. He breathes in and leans against the exterior wall of the Lounge. There are other people standing outside smoking, and Castiel doesn't care. He half wishes he had something to occupy his hands. He left his phone inside so he crosses his arms and just breathes.

It takes him a moment to realize that he's outside without anyone he knows and anxiety starts to creep up on him. He's usually smarter than this. He starts to look around aimlessly, and considers going back inside, if at least to just grab his phone so that he wouldn't look like a complete loner outside, when his eyes stop on Dean Winchester standing off at the corner of the Lounge.

He's surrounded by his other bandmates and a few women who talk to them, high shrieking laughter coming from the fangirls. Castiel notices Dean take a drag of a cigarette and his sudden attraction to him diminishes slightly. Dean passes it over to Charlie who inhales it and passes it around. It takes Castiel a few moments to realize that it'snota cigarette. The band shares the joint openly and even offers it to the women standing with them who take it willingly. He pretends not to hear the conversations near him.

"—no but seriously, you guys wereamazing. How long have you been playing together?"

"—can I touch your arms, they must besobig. All that drumming…"

He hears Dean laugh anxiously, "I'm good doll, thanks."

The girls are wasted, and annoying, Castiel concludes. He picks at his thumbnail and ignores them. Only when he sees someone move up beside him, does he look up. He tries not to choke as Dean Winchester leans against the wall right beside him.

"Do you mind if I stand here?" he asks Castiel. "I'm not gonna lie those girls are just…"

Castiel nods and clears his throat. "No worries, go ahead. It's not my wall."

Castiel stuffs his hands into his pockets and glances down at his feet before looking out ahead at the city beyond them. He can see Dean in his peripherals.

Dean hums a laugh and lights up another joint, sucking it in and leaning his head back against the wall to swallow the heat before blowing out his air almost clean. Castiel looks over to him when Dean holds out the joint in front of him in offering. Castiel considers it, and decides he's probably never going to see this man ever again, and he takes it. He pulls a long drag from the joint and stifles a cough before handing it back to Dean.

Even in the dim outdoor light, Castiel can see how gorgeous Dean Winchester is. His nose is straight, and freckles dance across it. His eyes look dark in the light, but Castiel swears they're green. There's still some sweat on his neck and Castiel pretends not to get hot from it. He came outside to cool off, dammit.

They share the joint back and forth until it's at its grubby end and becomes unpleasant. Dean tosses it to the ground and steps on it. Castiel can feel the high mixing with his liquor buzz and he sighs, leaning his head against the wall.

"It's good, eh?" Dean says, grunting as he repositions himself against the wall.

Castiel only just realizes that they're both sitting on the asphalt, their legs spread out in front of them and Castiel laughs.

"Yeah, it is," he finally says.

Dean holds out his right hand in introduction, "Dean Winchester."

Castiel takes it and the grip is firm and Dean's hands are large and solid.

"Castiel Novak," he replies.

"It's nice to meet you, Castiel Novak."

Castiel pauses after their hands separate before he says, "You guys were fucking awesome in there by the way." He points behind him with his thumb.

Dean chuckles. "Thanks, man."

Castiel nods, settling his hands in his lap. They sit there for a while, in silence, only listening to the people around them who, Castiel is grateful for, aren't paying them any attention. After a few moments, Dean stands up and brushes his ass off. He holds out a hand to Castiel, and Castiel glances up at him, taking it; Dean pulls him up effortlessly.

"Hey listen," Dean starts. He clears his throat. "There's uh—there's gonna be a party back at Benny's—actually. Aaron wasn't kidding." Dean lets out a laugh. and then says, "Would you want to come?"

Castiel stares at him.

"Uhm, a party?"

"Don't worry, it's not gonna be insane or anything. Just a few people. Play some games and hang out. It's cool if you don't want to."

"No!" Castiel says too quickly. He knows he's not thinking this through—but he'll be damned if he never sees Dean again. "I'll come."

Dean cracks a smile. "Cool," he says shyly. He kicks a toe at the ground looks at his feet. "Uh, we're probably gonna head out soon. Did you want to catch a ride with us or…?"

Castiel looks back to the front door and then explains, "My brother and my friend are inside, I'll go let them know. And I'll just come with you—we didn't drive."

"Okay. I'll wait for you out here then."

"I'll only be a minute," Castiel promises. His heart is racing. What is he doing? He doesn't do things like this.

He finds Gabriel and Inias still at their table.

"There you are!" Gabriel says, holding his hands out in front of him. "You left your phone, we were wondering where—is that weed I smell? Cas, did you—did you smoke a joint?"

"With Dean Winchester, yes." Castiel is blunt. Gabriel gawks at him.

"Wha—"

"And he's invited me back to his friend's place for a party and I said I'll go," Castiel talks over his brother. He grabs what's left of his vodka slime and downs it.

"You—you're going to a party?" Gabriel raises his eyebrows at him.

"Yes, I thought I made that clear." He sets his glass back down and wipes his mouth with his hand.

"Cas you—younevergo to parties! Not since—"

"I know Gabriel," Cas cuts him off sharply. "Not since what happened last time—but this isn't last time and I—look, he's waiting for me outside, I have to go!"

Castiel grabs his phone from the table and stuffs it in his pocket. He goes to turn away but is stopped by Gabriel's hand around his elbow.

"Cas, wait!"

Castiel turns to his brother.

"What?"

"Just—" Gabriel stops himself. "Are you sure you don't want us to come with you?"

"I'll be fine Gabriel," Castiel shrugs out of his brother's grasp. "I'm not a child."

"Don't be like that, I know you're not. Just—just be careful. Please." Gabriel's look on his face is sincere, and Castiel knows he's trying to mask his worry.

"I will. Don't worry about me, I'll be fine," he says again.

He knows his words don't convince his brother, but he turns to leave anyways.

When Castiel emerges from the Lounge, Dean is standing with his bandmates, talking and laughing. Dean sees him and walks up to him, a grin still painted on his face.

"Hey, I should have mentioned to you before you went inside that your brother and friend are welcome to come out too," he says to Castiel. There is a van in front of the Lounge that everyone starts to walk towards. Castiel follows Dean, who offers the opened door to him first before following him in.

To call it a van is a lie, it's a shuttle van—one you would get at an airport, and there's easily already twelve people inside. Castiel sits next to the window on the left towards the back of the van and Dean sits next to him, their thighs flush. More people get in.

"It's okay," Castiel assures him nervously, but lies when he says, "My brother has to work tomorrow, so."

Dean nods. "And you? What do you do?"

The people getting in settle themselves, and the van lurches forward. Dean is passed a beer by someone in front of him and he takes a swig of it and offers it to Castiel. Castiel doesn't drink beer but if it's as close to Dean's lips as he's going to get, he takes it. He makes sure not to make a face as he swallows.

"I'm a student at Emily Carr. I paint," he answers.

They drive underneath Granville Bridge and make their way down 3rd Avenue, where they turn left on Burrard Street.

"Oh yeah? That's cool. What do you paint?"

"Pictures."

Dean barks out a laugh. "No, I mean of what?"

Castiel is thankful for the darkness of the van because he can feel the heat rising to his cheeks.

"Oh. Mostly landscapes," he answers. "Well right now we're doing still-life paintings. So it's whatever we want, as long as it's from still-life."

"What's still-life?" Dean asks, actually seeming interested.

"Basically, it's just painting what's in front of you. I bought some fake flowers to paint. I would prefer real ones, but since I'm not working on it every day, I don't want them to die before I finish it."

"That makes sense."

Castiel nods.

The person sitting next to Dean suddenly shoves sideways and Castiel is squished between Dean and the window, his thigh nearly in Dean's lap and Dean laughs, putting his left arm on the back of the chair to give them more room between each other. Dean takes his right arm and pushes back at the guy, and then there's a girl on top of the guy who shoved them, making out with him in the most repulsive way Castiel has ever seen. Dean moves a little closer to Castiel and leans in.

"Sorry about that, I hope you don't mind this."

Castiel breathes. "It's fine."

"Did you want another drink?" Dean offers his beer again.

"Sure." This time Castiel only pretends to drink, but still gets a buzz from knowing Dean had his lips on it. He hands it back to Dean who takes another drink. He watches as his lips envelope the tip of bottle and how his tongue slips inside to stop the flow. Castiel shifts in his seat.

"Are you comfortable?" Dean asks.

"Yes. I'm fine," Castiel clears his throat, suddenly becoming tight.

"We're almost there," Dean assures him.

Castiel focuses on the music playing on the speakers taps his fingers on his lap. Dean starts to sing along quietly, and Castiel feels like it's only for him to hear. He smiles out the window, hiding how good this makes him feel, despite how anxious he is. Castiel doesn't know the song enough to sing along, so he hums to himself.

They've been traveling down 16th Avenue for a long time, Castiel only just notices. The van starts to slow down. They turn right on Trimble Street, and Castiel realizes that he hasn't been to this part of the city before. It makes him nervous but he doesn't let it show. They turn onto 15th Avenue and pull into a residential area, coming to a stop in front a modest house. It's in a nice part of a quaint neighbourhood and it somehow eases Castiel's anxiety.

The people closest to the door handles, drag open the sliding doors and they file out. Dean gets out before Castiel and waits for him outside the van. They walk up to Benny's house and Castiel fidgets with his hands. Dean talks with the people walking up with them and laughs at something they said. Castiel smiles at Dean's laugh and walks into the house.

Everyone seats themselves at either the couch or the table, drinks are being poured and Castiel doesn't know what to do with himself. He follows Dean into the basement, where there are already people there. If this is a small party, Castiel isn't sure he wants to see a big one. There's a pool table where beer bottles rest against its ledges; there is cigarette smoke along with what is undoubtedly weed hanging in the air; there is a large stereo system in the corner playing loud music; girls dance with each other and grind against guys; there is a drum set in the other corner opposite the stereo where some people are banging around on.

"Hey hey!" Dean yells. "Respect the equipment, alright? She's not new."

The guys stop and stand around, bored.

Dean leads them to a set of couches that look worn out and well used. He sits against the armrest and pats the cushion next to him. He pulls out another joint and Castiel sits next to him. He looks around the basement where there must easily be twenty people, if not more. Castiel has a hard time counting them.

"There's a lot of people here," he notes to Dean who takes a drag of his joint and hands it to Castiel.

"You kidding me? Hardly anyone is here."

Castiel raises his eyebrows and inhales. As he passes it back to Dean, their fingers brush together. Castiel looks up and meets Dean's eyes that are soft and red around the edges. He can only assume his look the same. He looks at Dean's mouth when Dean licks his lips. He then realizes that their hands are still touching and he hasn't let go of the joint. He clears his throat and looks away, placing his hands into his lap.

Dean grunts and takes another long drag. He passes it back to Castiel and leans against the back of the couch, his arm resting on the cushion behind Castiel's shoulders. Dean sighs out his high and closes his eyes. Castiel finishes off the joint and places it in the ashtray on the coffee table, then leans back into the couch. His head is spinning, and he's actually enjoying it. Dean passes him a beer and Castiel drinks it without really paying much attention as to where it came from. The music is loud and banging inside Castiel's head, he nods back and forth and leans back further, his head suddenly touching Dean's arm and he freezes. He takes a drink of his beer and looks over at Dean, who's talking to someone sitting on the armrest. Dean hasn't moved away from him yet, so maybe it's okay?

"—and this is Castiel," Dean says, pulling Castiel away from his thoughts. He looks up and sees the person Dean was talking to and realizes that it's Charlie.

"Cas," he decides to correct, holding out his hand. "It's nice to meet you."

"Nice to meet you too, Cas. I'm Charlie." She grabs his hand and shakes it lightly.

Dean's arm was still behind him and it was searing into Castiel's skin.

The people playing pool shout as one team eventually wins, and the rest of the basement cheer along with them. He takes another drink and finishes off his beer, the buzz undeniable and he looks around the room, trying to figure out where to put his empty bottle, but holds it a little while longer instead. He catches Dean's eyes and Dean smiles at him. It's a low smile, almost secretive.

Dean sits up and removes his arm from behind Castiel, and Cas suddenly feels a pang of loss. He leans forwards, resting his elbows on his knees and rolls the empty beer bottle between his two hands; Dean moves himself closer to him, trailing his arm behind Castiel's back and rests his hand against his hip. Castiel is frozen—not that he wants to move much anyways. Their knees brush, and Dean finishes off his own beer before setting it on the coffee table. He takes his newly empty hand and traces Castiel's knee with it. Castiel is almost afraid to look at him, but at the same time he is terrified to wake up and it all be a dream. He sets his beer bottle on the table next to Dean's and leans into Dean's touch.

He slowly looks up, and finds Dean looking at him. The hand at Castiel's hips rubs small circles into his rumpled shirt, and all that Castiel can think of is how badly he wants to take it off. He opens his mouth to say something, but he can't even find the words.

Dean leans in to his ear and whispers lowly, "Do you want to come with me?"

Castiel sucks in a breath and swallows. He nervously rubs his palms on his thighs, and licks his lips. His mouth is dry and now he wishes he had something to drink. He realizes that he needs to answer Dean, instead of looking like an ass.

He nods. He swallows again and says, "Yes."

Dean takes Castiel's hand and pulls him up. The room is spinning—but it's a good spin. It's a high Castiel has never felt before, and it makes him nervous but excited at the same time. Dean pulls him gently along through the crowd of people in the basement. They walk down a hallway and Dean pulls out a key from his pocket and unlocks a door to a bedroom. It's only lit briefly from the light in the hallway, and when Dean closes the door, it's dark again. The only light is coming from the window and the streetlamp outside. Castiel can only see Dean's figure, but can make out the freckles as Dean gets closer.

Dean starts unbuttoning Castiel's shirt, and Castiel grabs his glasses that are hanging in the opening, and holds them. He watches as Dean undresses him, his breathing unsteady and nervous. Castiel lets out a shuddering breath as Dean pulls his shirt down over his shoulders, his fingers trailing down Castiel's arms, and Castiel pulls out of the sleeves, still holding his glasses, unsure where to put them. Dean tosses Castiel's shirt off somewhere in the room, and places his hands on either side of his waist. He brings himself impossibly closer to Castiel before slowly tracing the shapes of Castiel's torso with his large hands. He gently pushes Cas backwards, until the back of Cas' knees are touching the bed, and Castiel sits. Dean quickly pulls off his own shirt and throws it behind him. He takes a hand and places it under Castiel's chin, making him to look up. He leans down and brushes his lips lightly against Castiel's cheek, their noses bumping. Castiel stutters slightly and closes his eyes. Dean moves his mouth over and inches towards Castiel's.

Castiel leans into the touch and opens his mouth, where Dean finally connects them together, closing with a sigh. Dean's hands instinctively go to either side of Cas' face, and Castiel places his hands on Dean's hips, looping his thumbs through Dean's belt loops. Dean kisses him softly, but eager. He suddenly surges forward and Castiel is on his back, Dean crawling inelegantly over him; their lips hardly have a moment apart. Castiel's legs hang over the edge of the bed. He sucks in a breath when Dean moves from his lips, and down to his jaw—sucking into his neck and licking down his throat.

Dean's legs are on either side of Cas' body, and he presses himself against Castiel's hip and Castiel can feel how hard he is. Castiel rolls his hips upwards and Dean groans. Dean comes up from kissing his neck to suck at Castiel's bottom lip. Their tongues meet and Castiel tries not to moan, but fails, his hands trembling as they run up Dean's chest. Dean pulls away slightly at the hips, taking a hand to unbutton Cas' belt and jeans. Cas takes this time to kiss Dean's jaw, trailing it back to his ear and he sucks and nips at Dean's earlobe.

"Fuck," Dean grunts.

He manages to undo Castiel's jeans and he slips a hand beneath the band to palm Castiel's cock over his boxer briefs. Castiel opens his mouth and leans upwards into the touch. His own hands roam Dean's body until he finds the band of his jeans, where he starts to unbutton it hastily. His hand finds Dean's hard cock and he wraps his hand around it, still covered by his boxers. Dean's lips find his again and they kiss and touch each other, and it's honestly hottest Castiel has ever felt. Suddenly Dean is wrapping an arm around the underside of Castiel's leg and lifting him up, moving Castiel further up the bed.

Castiel lays beneath Dean's body, a hand in his pants; he's touching Dean, and Deanlikesit. He moans against Castiel's lips. Dean brings his hand to slip underneath the band of his boxers and suddenly Cas is electrified. Dean's hot calloused hand wraps around his cock and Castiel shudders, noticeably. Dean quirks up a smile and kisses Cas again.

Dean lets go for a moment to pull at Castiel's jeans and boxers, taking them off. It's the most exposed Castiel has ever felt. But he doesn't want to stop; he watches as Dean takes off his own, standing naked before him. He crawls back over Cas and kisses up his chest. He touches a hand to Castiel's cheek and kisses him softly, lowering himself onto Cas' body. Their cocks brush and Castiel pushes himself up into Dean, stuttering a moan. Dean leans on his elbow and takes his free hand down to their cocks, jerking at Castiel's slowly.

Suddenly, the door opens and someone asks Dean where Charlie is.

"Fuck off! Can't you see I'm busy?" Dean hollers back, not caring that they can see his bare ass. Castiel is thankful that he is hidden by Dean's body.

Dean doesn't pay them much attention as they close the door.

"Sorry, I thought I locked it," he says gruffly.

"It's okay," Castiel replies, kissing up into Dean's neck. Every part of him feels like he should stop, leave, and never come back. But that all goes away when Dean sighs and starts jacking him again.

Cas takes his hand and touches Dean's cock lightly and Dean moans.

"Yeah, fuck. Come on Cas."

Hearing his name on Dean's wrecked breath has his dick twitching in Dean's hand. He pushes up and kisses Dean hard, causing Dean to falter backwards, but he doesn't stop. They kiss hot and wet while kneeling on the bed. Dean brings his other hand to thread through Castiel's hair and he gently tugs, making Cas hiss.

"God," Castiel says against the corner of Dean's mouth.

"God got nothin' to do with it sweet cheeks, it's me you're talking to."

Castiel pulls away to see Dean smirking and biting his bottom lip. Castiel firms his grip on Dean's cock and he tugs him quickly, watching Dean roll his head back and his eyes close. Castiel kisses his throat.

"God, fuck," Dean says hoarsely.

"I thought God had nothing to do with it," Castiel says into Dean's neck. Dean hums a laughter.

"Fuck, this is so hot Cas." Dean pulls Castiel's head up and kisses him, their tongues sliding together.

Dean's hand quickens and his hips start moving into Castiel's fist. They soon start to become erratic. Castiel is breathing heavily, sucking at Dean's lips, the heat building tight inside his stomach. Dean's hand is tight on his cock, and he can't stop the noises he begins to make.

Dean's thrusting hips become uneven and he moans into Castiel's mouth. It's seriously so hot and Castiel can feel himself edging closer. Dean's hips stutter, and his mouth opens against Castiel's; there is a hot splash of come against Castiel's abdomen. Dean stifles a grunt as he comes on Cas' hand. Castiel breathes faster, his dick hot in Dean's hand and he can feel Dean's come sliding down his body and he comes instantly, his mouth hanging open in a silent scream. His eyes squeeze shut as Dean jacks him.

As he finishes, Dean kisses his open mouth, languid and deep. Castiel collapses backwards onto the bed, spent and exhausted. Dean crawls over him and grabs tissues from his bedside table and turns his lamp on. He cleans himself up and passes Castiel a few clean tissues. Cas wipes himself clean and Dean takes his tissues and tosses them over into his trash bin. Castiel notices his glasses on the floor, but can't be bothered by them at the moment.

Dean crawls over and lays next to him. He rests his hands behind his head. It's quiet, aside from the music still playing outside Dean's room. He can feel his body pulling him towards sleep, and he tries to keep himself awake because he isnotfalling asleep in Dean Winchester's bed.

"You can stay, if you like," Dean mumbles, practically reading his mind. Dean pulls his naked body underneath the covers and faces Cas.

Castiel rubs his eyes and feels his contacts slide. He sighs.

"I have to take my contacts out," he says.

"The bathroom is right across the hall."

Castiel gets up stiffly and pulls his boxer briefs back on. He finds his jeans and pulls his contact lens case out. He picks up his glasses from off the floor and walks out of Dean's room. The party outside is still going strong, and Cas walks across the hall into the bathroom where he takes a much needed piss. He washes his hands and takes his contacts out. He puts his glasses back on and goes back into Dean's room.

Dean is looking through his phone, his finger scrolling up as he reads, his eyes squinting at the screen. Castiel remembers Gabriel and grabs his jeans from off the floor again, pulling out his own phone from his back pocket.

3 missed calls.

7 texts messages.

He opens his phone and sends a quickI'm fine, Gabriel. Staying at Dean's friend's tonight. I'll be home tomorrow.He locks his phone and tosses it back onto his jeans. He crawls into Dean's bed and Dean turns off the bedside lamp.

"Thanks for coming out tonight," Dean says into the darkness. "I had lots of fun."

"Yeah," Cas says gruffly. "Me too."

Castiel stares up at the ceiling as he lays next to Dean, and wonders what the fuck he's going to tell his brother tomorrow.

End of chapter one


	2. Round Two

Castiel sucks in a breath when he wakes up, suddenly remembering the previous night's events and slowly opens his eyes. Dean's room is dimly lit, thanks to the heavy curtains around the small basement window, which he doesn't remember being closed last night—he must have passed out before Dean shut them. He turns his head to the side slightly and sees Dean, still asleep and solid beside him. He slowly reaches for the edge of the covers and pulls them off of him, sitting up as lightly as he can. He puts his glasses on and grabs his jeans from the floor, putting his phone into one of the pockets as he pulls them on, and searches for his shirt.

It's too dark for Castiel to see anything resembling his shirt. Dean's room isn't exactly spotless; there's a few piles of clothing throughout the room and Castiel was obviously too busy to notice them last night.

Fuck.Where did Dean throw it?

He doesn't want to wake Dean up; he feels like he's already being disturbing enough by walking around aimlessly throughout Dean's room. He steps on a piece of fabric and he picks it up. It's not his shirt but itisa shirt nonetheless. He pulls it on and tries not to revel in the fact that it's Dean's and it smells like him. He runs a hand through his hair to try and flatten it.

It's no use.

Castiel wraps his hands around the door handle and gently opens the door. He looks back at Dean through the crack as he closes it and makes his way up the stairs as quietly as he can. He glances around and notices the people passed out throughout the basement. He somehow manages to find his shoes in the pile behind the door and he pulls them on inelegantly, nearly tripping when he opens the door.

As he leaves the house, Castiel takes his phone out of his pocket and calls a cab. He gives the address a couple blocks from where he actually is, and starts walking. The morning is cool and damp—the borrowed t-shirt doing nothing for his uncovered arms, and he realizes that he left his coat at the bar. He hopes Gabriel took it home.

It's hardly 7:00 AM and Castiel is so tired that his eyes hurt. He rubs them from beneath his glasses and sighs. He's made it to the place where he needs the cab driver to pick him up. His phone is at 7% and he knows there's no point in wasting it so he stuffs it back into his pocket and waits.

"That'snot your shirt," is the first thing Gabriel says when Castiel walks through the front door. Castiel is still amazed with having the luck of not losing his keys last night. Gabriel is sitting on the couch with his MacBook on his lap.

"I couldn't find mine," Castiel replies simply, as if it's something normal. Maybe it is for some people, but it's definitely not normal for him. He toes his shoes off and walks into the kitchen to grab himself something to drink. He feels like shit, his mouth is so dry that it's hard to speak, and he isbeyondhungry.

"Andwhycouldn't you find it?" Gabriel teases.

Castiel looks over and stares at his brother, frowning. Gabriel knows, he's just being a dick. A sly smile creeps up on Gabriel's face and Castiel rolls his eyes. Cas drinks an entire glass of water before he speaks.

"Maybe because it was dark and I didn't want to cause a scene trying to find it." He places the empty glass in the sink.

"Stop censoring for my sake, Cas." Gabriel's tone suddenly becomes heavier. "What happened last night? I was worried about you."

Castiel sighs and comes around the couch. He sits on the opposite side of Gabriel and rests an ankle over his knee. He picks at a hangnail and frowns again.

"Cas," Gabriel tries again. "What happened?"

"Nothing bad, Gabriel. Seriously. It's fine." Castiel hates when Gabriel gets like this.

"Then why do you look torn up about it?" Gabriel moves closer towards him.

"I don't look torn about it," Castiel says.

"You can't even see your face."

Castiel rolls his eyes.

"Dean and I fooled around last night," he answers. "See? Not a big deal? Are you happy?"

"Was it consensual?' he pauses, "Did you let him?"

Anger flickers across Castiel's face and he stares at his brother.

"Wha—? Gabr—of course it was consensual. Why would you say that?"

"I'm sorry, I just needed to know." Gabriel hesitates and says, "But would you have told me if it wasn't?"

Castiel looks down at his hands and shrugs a shoulder. "I don't know."

"You've got to open up and talk to me about it, Cas." Gabriel is sitting right next to him, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

Castiel frowns. "There's really nothing that I want to say."

"I think you should."

Castiel rolls his eyes again. "Gabriel, I'm done talking about it—so don't push me."

Gabriel sighs and removes his hand from Castiel's shoulder. Castiel uses this opportunity to get up off the couch.

"Where are you going?" Gabriel asks.

Castiel doesn't even bother turning around to tell him as he walks down the hallway.

"I'm going to bed."

When Castiel wakes up later that day, he feels more tired than he was before he went to sleep. He rolls over and rubs his eyes, his alarm clock reading 2:03 PM. Castiel groans and shoves his head back into his pillow, lying on his stomach. He blindly reaches for his phone on his bedside table and leans up onto his elbows to look at it. He sees a missed text from Inias.

Inias: Hey. How are you feeling? Gabriel texted me when you got home. Is everything okay?(10:49 AM)

Castiel doesn't even want to reply but he knows he should let his best friend know that he's at least not dead. He touches the text box and replies,I'm fine. Just tired.He sends the message and rolls over onto his back, resting his phone on his chest; his eyes finally adjust to the soft light in his room. His phone buzzes and he glances down to unlock it.

Inias: I can imagine.Would you be down to hang out?(2:09 PM)

Castiel: Would it surprise me if you were already here?(2:09 PM)

Not even a minute later, there is a knock on his bedroom door. It opens a crack and Castiel turns his head to see Inias, peeking through at him.

"Hey," Inias says to him.

"Hey," Castiel replies.

"Can I come in?"

Cas nods. Inias opens the door and closes it behind him, walking over and sitting on the edge of Castiel's bed. Castiel sits up and props his pillows behind him to make it more comfortable.

"So," Inias starts. "Gabe sort of filled me in on everyth—don't roll your eyes, okay? Cas, he's worried about you."

"I don't know why," Castiel shrugs.

"Yes, you do. I think he wants you to talk about it."

"I don'tneedto talk about it, Inias. Seriously, I'm fine. It was what's called a one night stand. Shocking, I know—for someone like me to suddenly do."

"That's not what I'm talking about and you know it," Inias argues.

Castiel pinches the bridge of his nose and then decides to cover his face with both hands.

"Inias," he says, muffled behind his hands, "just drop it please."

Cas drags his hands down his face and finds Inias looking at him. He can only hold Inias' stare for so long before he has to look elsewhere. He does not need to talk about what happened, he is fine. That's what he tells himself. It's nothing to worry about.

"Look," Castiel continues. "I know you both mean well when you tell me that I need to talk about it, but I'm fine."

Inias is solemn for a moment, in thought.

"Your actions last night were sporadic, and Gabriel and I feel that it was a reaction to you neglecting the subject."

"Because I won't talk about it."

Inias nods.

"So you think me going home with Dean last night was abadthing?" He expects this much from Gabriel, but from Inias? He huffs out a breath. "Don't you think it could be a sign that I've moved on? That I'm ready to try again?"

Inias looks at his hands. Castiel shoves the covers down and brings his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them, looking at the spaces between his toes.

He continues, getting defensive and angry. "I have spent the better part oftwoyears trying to get over what happened. I could hardly look people straight in the eye without feeling like I was going to implode. Taking a year off university seemed to be the right thing to do, since everyone wouldn't stop talking about it, and now I'm finally getting back into it. And what happened with Dean, I'll admit was spontaneous—but it's the best I've felt ever since that night."

Inias is silent. Castiel doesn't bother looking up, but he knows Inias is looking right at him. He doesn't know if he should keep going, or if he even has anything left in him to continue. He sits there for a few moments to try and calm himself down.

"What happened last night was something I've never done," he says eventually. "And I was scared the majority of the time that I was there. I was surrounded by people that I had never met before—I knew no one. I was terrified something awful was going to happen, but Dean somehow made it all go away." He pauses, "And I'm sorry for worrying you guys last night. That wasn't my intentions."

"Thank you for telling me this, Cas." Inias' voice is soft. "You know I'm always here for you. I always have been. But ever since that night, it's been hard to crack you…to talk to you. I'm sorry that that's what you had to go through these past two years, Cas. I really am. But I can't help you if I don't know—"

"I never asked for your help," Castiel interrupts.

"It's called having people who love you and care for you. It's concept you have yet to understand."

Castiel huffs out a laugh and shrugs in agreement. He looks at Inias and gives him a nonchalant smile.

When he finally feels willing and able, Castiel pushes himself to get up and take a shower. It's later in the afternoon and Inias has long since gone and Castiel is alone. Gabriel is out with a few of his friends, so Castiel takes his time getting out of bed and walks over into his bathroom, squinting when he turns the light on. He rubs his jaw, feeling the stubble prickling against his fingers. He looks at himself in the mirror and sees how tired his eyes look. The bags underneath are dark and his eyes look bleary. He reaches for his electric razor and turns it on. He absentmindedly runs it across his cheeks, along his jaw, and down his neck until it is smooth and he is somewhat satisfied. He rinses the sink out and brushes his teeth before turning the shower on.

As the water runs down his back, he leans into the heat to wash away his last night's events—even though a part of him never wants to forget what happened with Dean Winchester. He somewhat doesn't even believe that it did, but as he runs a hand over his stomach he, he can feel the dry patches of come stuck to the trail of hair above his pelvis. He pushes farther back into the water until it runs down his front and he wipes himself clean. He washes his hair and body, and stands in the water for longer than he needs to. He rests his back against the cold tile.

He eventually turns the water off and grabs a towel, drying most of his body off before stepping out of the shower. He wraps the towel around his waist and pushes his wet hair back from dripping water down his face. He looks at his phone on the counter. 6:34 PM.

He sighs. He wasted away an entire day.

He walks back into his room and dresses himself in baggy sweatpants and a loose t-shirt, sliding his phone into his pocket. When he finally emerges from his bedroom, the apartment is only lit by the low evening sunlight coming from the living room windows. He turns on some of the lights as we walks, and the switches on the TV for sound. He ambles to the kitchen and considers making himself something to eat, since he technically hasn't eaten anything since the bar last night.

His phone buzzes in his pocket.

Gabriel: I'm on my way home. Need me to grab anything for you?(6:41 PM)

He types out his reply.

Castiel: Something greasy, I need something heavier than lettuce.(6:41 PM)

Gabriel: Roger dodger. Lol.(6:42 PM)

Castiel puts his phone back into his pocket and drags his feet into the living room to sit on the couch. He wraps a blanket around his legs and tries to make himself comfortable. He flips through Netflix until he finds something good enough to play in the background. He grabs his sketchbook from off the coffee table and his black micron pens.

He always mindlessly ends up drawing eyes. He starts with the inner corner, stretching the ink up into the lid and back down. He connects the inner corner with the lower lash line and to the outer corner. Drawing in shadows to create depth, he makes the crease above the lid. He switches pens to something smaller to create fine lines and details. Next, he makes with the iris. It's nearly a perfect circle, with the pupil living in the centre; flecks of white act as reflective light, and dance around it. He adds more lines for depth around the eyeball until it almost looks as if it could be curving off the paper.

It's one of Castiel's favourite things to draw.

He works up the paper, drawing in the fine lines of the eyebrow hairs. He crosshatches to create contrast; a straight nose, freckles in constellations spreading across. He makes the next eye and stares at the paper. Even though it's black ink, the eyes could almost be green. Cas squeeze the pen in his hand and shakes his head.

You're not drawing Dean Winchester, he tells himself.

He starts drawing the lips, slightly parted and full. He's so engrossed in his work that he doesn't even hear Gabriel come inside until he's standing right beside him.

"Why are you drawing Dean Winchester?" he asks, a smile in his voice.

Castiel jerks back, slightly jumping at the voice of his brother. He curses under his breath.

"I'm not," he lies.

"Really? 'Cause it sure as hell looks like him." Gabriel plops himself on the couch beside him, holding a brown paper bag. "I brought you food. Thai, like I know you'd want."

Cas' mouth nearly starts drooling at the sight of Gabriel pulling the food out of the bag. He watches as Gabriel sets it on the table and Castiel sits up properly, placing his sketchbook aside.

"This is better than I was expecting," he admits. He grabs a container and opens it to reveal his favourite: Thai chicken. There's a container with rice and another with a salad. Castiel doesn't realize how hungry he really is until he starts to eat.

Gabriel shrugs. "I know my baby bro."

"Don't call me that," Castiel replies between chews.

"Call you what—baby bro? Pfft. I'll call you what I want, Cassie-bear."

Castiel rolls his eyes but decides not to bother arguing about it. He eats his meal in relative silence from his brother, aside from him asking what the fuck Castiel is watching.

"It's a documentary on minimalism," he explains. "It's supposed to help us realize that we don't need all of these things to make us happy. That we only need the bare minimal to survive."

Gabriel makes a face. "Well yeah, the cavemen used the bare minimum and survived but it wasn't easy pickings for them."

Castiel frowns at his brother but continues to eat.

"So," Gabriel says suddenly, picking up Castiel's sketchbook. "Who is this?"

Castiel finishes chewing before he answers, "I don't know, it was just a doodle."

His brother makes a face that readsimpressive, but Cas knows he's doing it to tease him.

There is a stale quality to the air in that moment, and Castiel fears that Gabriel will turn the conversation to where he doesn't want it to go. He finishes his food and throws the containers back into the paper bag before standing up to bring it to the trash. While he's up, he grabs a glass of water and drinks the whole thing at the sink before he fills his glass again.

Gabriel is still looking at the drawing.

"Hey uh, Beneath The Spotlight is playing at the Coppertank Grill on Broadway tonight, you wanna go?" He glances at his phone for the time. "Show starts at 8:30-ish."

Castiel shrugs. "I don't know, I have lots of studio work I need to do. Midterm projects are due the end of next week and I'm not finished my still-life painting. Or the perspective drawing. I have lots on my plate and I really don't need another late night."

"It doesn't have to be a late night—just don't go home with Dean Winchester this time."

Castiel balks at his brother. "Gabriel!"

"What! I'm just saying."

Castiel rolls his eyes.

"Besides," Gabriel continues, wiggling his brows, "Don't you have to a shirt to return?"

Gabriel shoves himself into a booth at the Coppertank Grill and Castiel follows, uninterested. He's holding the shirt he took from Dean's, the folded fabric soft against his fingers.

He is wearing a light blue long sleeved shirt and a pair of jeans. He also didn't care much for his contacts this time, so he's wearing his glasses. The booth they're occupying is straight down the centre of the stage (which isn't much of a stage, but more like the only open area by the bar) and is rapidly becoming smaller with all of the band's instruments and equipment; Castiel can see the drum kit perfectly this time. It makes him uneasy.

What if Dean sees him?

The lights dim and the stage lights up. Castiel can see Adam, Aaron, Benny, Charlie, Jo, and Dean walk out from where he couldn't see them from behind the bar. He stirs in his seat, anxiety bubbling in his stomach.

"You okay?" Gabriel asks, sipping on a beer.

"I'm fine," Castiel lies.

"Do you want a drink?"

"No. I better not this time." He half wishes Inias was here with them, and he considers texting him, but then the band starts playing their firstsong. Dean starts it off with a heavy drum beat that catches the audience's attention, and they instantly start crowding around. Castiel and Gabriel remain in their seats. Adam sings the song and it is upbeat; it has the crowd jumping and singing, "I'm not ready to go!"

By the secondsong, Castiel makes himself comfortable and crosses his arms to lean into the table, taking a sip of his water. He taps his foot to the beat of the song, but isn't quite as present as he wants to be. He faintly hears Adam singing, but he stares at Dean and realizes that Dean is wearinghisshirt from last night. He sucks in a breath as he takes the sight of him in. His dark grey shirt fits tight around Dean's shoulders, but he has it unbuttoned and is wearing a white tank top underneath. Castiel can see the sweat dripping down Dean's neck and it glistens across his chest. He curses the shirt for getting in the way.

"How you doing over there, Romeo?" Castiel hears. He peels his eyes away from Dean to see Gabriel smirking at him.

He rolls his eyes and doesn't reply.

The nextsong, Charlie sings. Castiel really likes Charlie's voice. Adam and Aaron bounce off each other with the guitar riffs, while Benny gives his all with the bass. Jo

"Hey what's up Coppertank Grill!" Adam says into the mic. "We're Beneath The Spotlight!"

The crowd cheers and Gabriel whistles.

"Thank you all for coming out tonight," he continues. "I'm Adam Milligan."

Adam goes on to introduce the rest of the band, saving Dean for last—again. When Dean stands up and waves, his eyes stop on Castiel. A cheeky grin reaches the corner of Dean's mouth and Castiel nearly stops breathing when Dean begins to slowly take offhisshirt, the girls going wild and screaming.

"Dinneranda show!" Adam teases.

Dean takes the shirt and wipes the sweat off of his neck without breaking eye contact with Castiel. He then ties it around his hips and turns to grab a drumstick that had fallen on the floor, and Castiel notices something peeking out from the edges of Dean's tank top as sits back down, ready to start the nextsong. It looks like a piece of a tattoo, but Castiel isn't sure. He squints as he tries to get a better look of it, but it's no use. The song has now started and Dean is in the zone. Adam sings again, but Jo comes in the next verse, and they harmonize perfectly during the chorus.

The band plays some songs from last night, and Castiel figures it's because they only have so many songs, but the next one that Aaronsingsis different from the rest of them. It sets a dark mood, with a grungy melody. The rest of the band sings along in the background, and they blend seamlessly. The crowd cheers loudly when he finishes the song and Castiel claps along with the rest of the audience.

They play a few more songs that Castiel hasn't heard, and they come up to their lastsong. Cas only just realizes that Dean hasn't sung this set yet, and it makes him disheartened.

"We're gonna end this set with another cover, and we want you all singing along with this one—we know you all know it!" Adam yells over everyone. He starts to sing the song and Castiel recognizes it instantly.

"I just want to use your love tonight! I don't want to lose your love tonight!"

When the song ends, the crowd bursts into applause; Castiel and Gabriel cheer along. The band thanks the audience and says their goodbyes. They step off to the side of the stage and find themselves at the bar.

"Well that was a good show," Gabriel mentions as they grab their coats and put them on.

"Yeah, it was," Castiel agrees.

He slides his arms through his jacket and grabs Dean's shirt from the table. He looks around the Grill for Dean but he can't see him. He begins to walk towards the bar but stops when he hears, "I believe that belongs to me."

He spins on his heel to see Dean standing behind him, with his shirt still wrapped around his hips and a cheeky grin on his face. His eyes are bright green and his neck is still sweaty. Castiel swallows.

"Fancy seeing you here," Dean says. "You know, I wasn't expecting you to be here tonight but I'm glad you got to see the show."

Cas knows he's talking about the minor strip tease.

"It was a good show," he replies. "And I thinkthatbelongs to me."

He points to Dean's hips.

Dean smiles and unwraps Castiel's shirt from his hips and hands it to him. Cas takes it and passes Dean's back to him. Dean looks around the Grill.

"I never got your number by the way," Dean mentions as he takes his shirt back, "when you left this morning."

Castiel hesitates. "Yes, I'm sorry I—I left without saying goodbye, I—"

"It's okay man, I don't need excuses," Dean laughs. "I know how it goes. But hey, Benny's having another party tonight again if you want to come."

Castiel glances back at Gabriel who is waiting at their booth still, looking at his phone. He scratches the back of his head and looks back at Dean, who is waiting for an answer.

"I don't know," he says honestly. "I have a lot of stuff I need to catch up on since I spent the day in bed—I didn't get the chance to go to the studio."

Dean waves him off with a casual smile. "No worries. It was nice seeing you."

Castiel nods slowly. "Yeah, you too."

"I'll see you around, Cas."

And with that, Dean walks around him and heads for the door. Castiel tries not to watch him but falters when Dean looks back and gives him a smile and a nod.

Cas and Gabriel ride the elevator back up to the apartment in silence. Castiel taps the side of his thighs with his fingers and stares at the number as it slowly makes its way to the 14th floor. It's nearly 11:00 PM when they get back into the apartment. Castiel throws his jacket over the chair by his desk in his room and sits himself on his bed, rubbing his wrist where he just removed his watch from. Gabriel walks by his room, making his way to his own.

"Sleep tight Cassie-bear," he calls to him.

"You too, Goober," Castiel replies.

Gabriel snorts and shuts his bedroom door.

Castiel undresses himself and throws his clothes into his hamper, the shirt Dean returned to him hanging over the edge. He doesn't bother showering since it had hardly been six hours since he last showered. He brushes his teeth and gets into bed, scrolling through his Facebook feed. He checks his notifications and sees that Inias tagged him in a post a few hours ago.

It's a picture of Dean drumming at the Backstage Lounge from last night, and it makes Castiel stir in his bed. Dean is sweaty and beautiful and Castiel can't stop looking at him. He notices Dean's name tagged in the photo and his clicks on it, finding Dean's personal Facebook page. He sits up in his bed and scrolls through his profile pictures, all of them of him drumming, and all of them beautiful. He hovers his thumb over theAdd as Friendbutton, but thinks better of it. He plugs his phone in before locking it and turning over onto his side.

Castiel lays there for half an hour staring at the hamper in the corner of his room—his shirt hanging over and all Cas can think about is the sweat on Dean's neck and how it currently resides between the threads of his shirt. His throat tightens and he swallows to try and relax himself.Dean slowly taking off his shirt and wiping his sweat glistened neck—Castiel can't stop thinking about it.Dean undressing Cas last night; Dean jacking him; Dean moaning; DeanDeanDean.

Castiel is hard and uncomfortable.

He rolls onto his back and sighs. He stares at the stippled ceiling and tries to think of things to make the growing problem in his pyjama pants go away. He then thinks maybe he should just touch himself and get it over with, but feels as though his hand is inadequate compared to Dean's.

He shoves the covers off of himself and walks to his bathroom; maybe peeing might help. He stands in front of the toilet and tries to e on, he thinks to himself. But it's no use. He tries sitting, leaning himself over but all he can think about is what he could be doing with Deanright nowif he were there.

He stands up and kicks his pyjama pants off, walking over to his closet to grab a pair of jeans. He pulls over a t-shirt and a sweater and puts a pair of socks on. He grabs his coat from his chair and his apartment keys, stuffing them into his pocket. He's about to open his bedroom door before he turns around and grabs his phone from his bedside table.

He doesn't bother waking Gabriel.

He calls a cab on his way to the elevator and only has to wait a few minutes outside before one shows up. He directs the driver, as he can't remember the exact address, but he remembers being on 16th Avenue, and Trimble Street.

He manages to find Benny's house and stops the driver. He pays his fee and steps out. He can hear the music from outside so he knows the party isn't over. It's only midnight. He walks up to the house and knocks on the door. He waits a minute before knocking harder; there's no doorbell.

Suddenly he hears, "Charlie! Can you get the door?"

Within a moment, Castiel can hear footsteps approaching, and a sweep of red hair flashes as Charlie opens the front door.

"Hey Cas!" she greets him with a bright smile.

"Hello Charlie. I hope it's okay that I'm here. Dean invited me earlier and I told him no, but then I changed my mind," he rambles.

She opens the door wider and says, "Come on in!"

"Thank you," he replies. He takes off his shoes, adding them to the pile behind the door and looks around the entry way, his hands in his pockets.

"I think Dean is downstairs." She points behind her as she walks up to the main floor of the bi-level house. She gives him another smile and rounds the corner, leaving Castiel in the porch.

He makes his way down the stairs, and can see the layer of smoke floating around the basement. The bodies move around him and there's significantly more people here tonight than there was last night. It only makes Castiel a little bit anxious. The music is loud and people dance; Castiel walks around them and nearly gets himself impaled by someone playing pool.

"Watch out, man," the guy says.

"Sorry," Castiel apologizes.

He turns and sees Dean leaning back on the couch with a joint between his lips, looking up at him, surprised. His eyes are red rimmed, and dark. The small smile he gives Castiel nearly makes him shiver. Dean exhales and drinks the rest of his beer, then takes another drag..

"Hey Cas," he says gruffly, the joint hanging between his lips. "Why don't you pop a squat?"

"Hello Dean," Castiel replies as he sits in the middle of the couch.

"I'm surprised to see you here." Dean hands him a beer but Castiel declines. Instead, Castiel boldly takes the joint from between Dean's lips and sucks it back, watching Dean lick his lips. "What changed your mind?"

Dean rubs his hands together, not knowing what to do with them.

Castiel blows out smoke, shrugging when he says, "I don't know. I was trying to fall asleep and I couldn't. So here I am."

Dean gives him a cheeky smile and replies, "Couldn't stop thinking about me, hey?"

Castiel doesn't say anything. His only reply is taking another long drag, feeling the heat carry itself down his throat. He flicks the joint into the ashtray and hands it back to Dean.

If he is being honest, he doesn't know what the fuck he's doing.

Dean clears his throat nervously and takes the joint back, looking at Castiel.

"No," Castiel answers finally. "I couldn't."

The music surrounds them but it's like nobody else is in the room. They stare at each other. Castiel leans in a bit, their knees brushing. His heart is racing and he doesn't know what to do, so he slides himself closer to Dean until their sides are flush. He never does things like this, he is never the source of initiation, and it's starting to show. Anxiety bubbles in the back of his throat so he tries to swallow it down.

Dean glances around them and moves his arm so it's resting on the back of the couch. Castiel looks down at Dean's lips and flicks his tongue out. He leans forward, inching towards Dean's lips, but falters when Dean pulls back.

"Woah," Dean says shyly.

Castiel's stomach drops. Fuck.

Dean lowers his voice. "Not out here."

Castiel furrows his brows in confusion and then it suddenly hits him. He freezes where he sits and stares at Dean. Last night, Dean was in control and discrete; he didn't openly touch Cas in places people would notice until they were hidden behind closed doors. Castiel positions himself away from Dean awkwardly and rests his hands in his lap, his eyes following to stare at the floor.

"We can go back to my room," Dean tells him quietly.

Castiel doesn't know whether he's offended or hurt by Dean's neglect to inform him of this newly found information. He almost feels ashamed that Dean could feel embarrassed by him. Scratch that—he's mortified.

"Cas," Dean says. "Cas—can you—can you say something?"

Castiel is still looking at his hands, but finally lifts them to look helplessly at Dean.

Dean looks at him intensely, guilt filling his eyes, and then takes his hand and pulls him up, guiding him past the people throughout the basement and down the hall where he takes him to his room. He turns the light on and shuts the door, making sure to lock it this time. Castiel stands in the middle of Dean's bedroom, his arms hanging by his side. Dean has his back to the door and shame written on his face.

"Well, I feel stupid for coming," Castiel hurriedly utters under his breath.

Dean takes a step closer to him. "No no, don't—don't say that. Look," he sighs. "I'm sorry. I—"

He stops himself. He places his hands on his hips and closes his eyes for a moment.

"I didn't think you would come here tonight. And I just wasn't expecting that to happen but—I'm just—"

"Not out?" Castiel says through his teeth, finishing his sentence for him.

Dean shamefully lowers his head and nods. "Cas I'm—I'm sorry. I didn't mean to—out there, I just—" he says.

"I guess you're lucky no one was paying any attention to us, right? God forbid anyone thinks you're afag," Castiel bursts out with a fake laugh. He starts to shake.

Dean quickly closes the space between them with a few strides and places a hand on Castiel's bicep.

"You know that's not what I meant it to look like, okay?" Dean's voice hovers between them.

"Sure as hell looked like that to me. What was that last night then? Just somethingnewyou were trying?"

Dean huffs out a breath of disbelief and lets go of Castiel's arm, walking around him over to his bed to sit down on the edge. He pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Look Cas, I really like you and I'm sorry for coming off as an ass out there, but I'm just —I'm…fuck. I'm not ready to let it all out." He drops his hand. "And this is all pretty new to me. Last night was the first time I tried anything with a guy before and—I really liked it…I really likedyou." He pauses. "I don't even know why I'm telling you all this, it's not like it matters."

Castiel is silent. He stares at Dean and immediately feels a sharp pang of embarrassment and guilt over his reaction. He barely knows Dean—he shouldn't have gotten this worked up about it. He sighs and walks over to sit next to Dean. He rubs his own face with his hand and stares at the floor. He feels the heat on his cheeks and hopes that Dean isn't looking at him.

"I'm sorry," Cas finally says. "It was…"

He sighs again, letting his hands fall in his lap, unsure of even what to say.

Dean places a hand on his and Castiel can feel the rough callouses between his thumb and forefinger from his drumsticks.

"I'm sorry if I upset you," Dean softly speaks. He takes his free hand and lifts Castiel's chin to face him. His eyes are soft and warm, the green dulled by the flat yellow light.

Castiel shrugs and gives him a half-assed smile. It's fake but he can see it makes Dean feel better. Dean slowly leans forward and captures Cas' lips with his, pressing gently against him. It makes Castiel stutter a breath, and he almost wants to back away, to leave. Dean is only using him. When he figures out Cas is broken, he'll know what he really wants, and he'll go back to the girls that follow him around. But then Dean opens his mouth and slides his tongue inside and Castiel forgets what he was thinking about.

He grabs at Dean's shirt and pulls him closer, humming into Dean's mouth when Dean pushes him backwards onto the bed. His glasses skew sideways and Castiel pulls them off and places them on the bedside table. He should have worn his contacts.

Dean crawls over him and presses his body down onto Cas and groans. Castiel's head is swimming withstopanddon't stop.And he doesn't know which one to say, but opens his mouth and an incomprehensible sound comes out when Dean starts to palm him from the outside of his jeans.

Even Dean moans at Cas' reaction, his mouth hanging open against Castiel's bottom lip. Fuck, this is a bad idea—but Castiel can't stop himself. Dean tastes like beer and weed, and Castiel breathes him in. He feverishly pulls up Dean's shirt, Dean helping him remove it through the sleeves, and throws it over his shoulders. Dean gets the idea and takes Castiel's sweater and t-shirt off too. They scramble up the bed and take their pants off. Dean quickly hops off the bed and turns off the bedroom light, and switches on his bedside table lamp. He rips the covers open and pulls them nearly off the bed, Castiel flipping onto his back. They still have their boxers on, and Castiel can see Dean's half-hard cock bulging beneath them.

Castiel lies underneath Dean's solid body and writhes as Dean lightly touches him everywhere; his chest, his waist, his swelling cock from the outside of his boxers. They kiss and they breathe the same air. Castiel takes his hand and toys with the band of Dean's boxers. Dean looks at Castiel, his eyes dark and full of want, his lips kiss swollen and red, and Castiel doesn't think he's seen anything hotter. He watches Dean's face as he slips his hand beneath the band and wraps his fingers around Dean's cock. Dean's mouth goes slack and he closes his eyes, his hips dipping into Castiel's hand. Dean shudders a breath and licks his lips. Castiel inches forward and licks Dean's jaw, the stubble rough like sandpaper against his tongue. Dean makes a noise in the back of his throat when Cas tightens his grip and starts moving his hand faster.

Dean's hips stutter and he bites his bottom lip between his teeth and Castiel watches.

"Fuck, Cas. Yeah—like that. Fuck."

Castiel takes his free hand and runs it across Dean's chest, up his neck to hold his jaw, pulling Dean in closer to kiss him. Dean grunts into his mouth. Castiel craves to be touched, his dick aching and throbbing underneath his boxers. Dean presses hard against Castiel and Cas moans as their hips fuse together, electricity binding them. Castiel brings both of his hands up and threads his fingers through Dean's hair. Their tongues slide together and it's wet and somewhat sloppy but Castiel loves it.

He wants to feel every inch of Dean's body with his mouth.

He kisses Dean's open mouth and trails down his jaw, his neck, sucking around his Adam's apple. Dean sucks in a breath when Castiel licks up his collarbone. Cas makes his way down Dean's chest, revelling in the fact that Dean made a high pitched noise when Castiel sucked one of his nipples. Dean's body is sheen with sweat and it makes Castiel's dick twitch as he tastes him.

Castiel is at the band of Dean's boxers, a spot of precome evident in the fabric. He looks up at Dean, who stares back at him—wrecked and beautiful, and Castiel only wants to make him more so. He watches as Dean eyes him, pulling the band down over his cock and Dean's breath quickens. Cas is so close to his dick, he feels scared that he's going fuck it all up. If last night was Dean's first time withanyguy, that means this would be his first blowjob from a guy—which means that Castielcan not fuck this up.

He opens his mouth against the shaft of Dean's cock and licks up the underside, all the way to the head where he wraps his swollen lips around. Dean's mouth hangs open, his eyes shut tight and then he bites his lip again. Castiel sucks him down and Dean nearly jolts at the contact.

"Holy fuck, Cas. Oh god," Dean groans, throwing his head back against his pillow. "Don't fucking stop. Don't—don't stop—fuck."

Castiel tightens his lips and sucks harder, his throat starting to become sore. Dean's body shakes and he makes incoherent noises and Castiel is hot from it. He needs to touch himself, so he ungracefully pulls his boxers down over his ass and jacks himself, all while Dean's cock throbs in his mouth.

It's almost too much.

"Are you—" Dean pants, looking down at him. "Oh fuck—that's so hot."

Castiel hums in agreement and Dean shudders beneath him.

"Cas, I'm—fuck, I'm close." Dean's breathing becomes erratic and his hips start to stutter. Castiel can feel the tension building in his stomach as he nears his own orgasm. He doesn't know if he should pull off Dean. Would Dean think it'd be weird if he swallowed?

"C-Cas I'm—I'm. Fuck!"

Dean's whole body jerks and stills, and he comes down Castiel's throat, hot strips coating the inside of his mouth. Castiel sucks him down and swallows. Dean twitches in overstimulation and heaves out a huge sigh. Castiel pulls off of him and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, his other hand still jerking himself lightly.

Dean clears his throat.

"Come here," Dean says, his voice wrecked and hoarse.

Castiel stops touching himself to crawl up Dean's body and hesitates, just shy of his face. Dean is looking at him intensely, and he takes a hand and brushes the side of Cas' face with it. He stares down at Castiel's lips, curious to taste himself. He licks his lips and leans in. Castiel is hesitant, knowing that tasting your own come isn't for everyone. Dean presses his lips against his and kisses him. Castiel opens his mouth and slowly kisses Dean back.

Dean grunts and pulls back, wiping his mouth.

"It's an acquired taste," Castiel says, looking down.

Dean doesn't say anything, but he lifts Cas' chin up and brushes his lips against his. He trails his free hand down Castiel's body, stopping at his pelvis. Dean opens his mouth and closes his eyes, sucking in a deep breath as he begins to kiss him harder. Castiel moans in response.

Dean's hand soon finds Castiel's cock and he jacks him slowly, making Cas writhe above him. He pushes up into Castiel and turns himself over him. Dean groans into Cas' mouth and squeezes him harder.

Castiel's mouth is slack and his eyes roll back, closing, and lost in his pleasure. Dean kisses down Castiel's neck and sucks into his skin, sinking his teeth between the meat of his neck and shoulder. Castiel nearly barks out in pain but finds that he likes it, and his dick twitches in Dean's hand. His body starts to shake and he doesn't control the words coming out of his mouth, but they come in blurts ofyeah—fuck. Dean, fuck don't stop—don't stop.

Dean quickens his pace and Castiel's breath hitches in his throat, and the heat builds fast; he knows he's close. He reaches out for the bedsheets for something to grab and he clenches his fists around the fabric.

"Dean," he shudders.

Dean comes up and kisses him hot and wet, licking his way into Cas' mouth and groaning when he can still taste himself on Castiel's tongue.

"Fuck," Dean says against his mouth. He presses in again and bites at Castiel's bottom lip.

Castiel stutters a moan and jerks, his cock throbbing in Dean's hand, and he comes. His body is tense and sore when he comes down from his orgasm. He collapses into the sheets and melts. Dean reaches over him and hands him a tissue. Castiel cleans himself up and tosses it in the garbage. He throws himself back into the pillow, exhausted. He rests a hand over his face and breathes. He can feel Dean's eyes on him. He slits open his fingers to look at Dean.

"Everything okay?" he asks.

"What—yeah. Yeah, I'm good. I'm fine," Dean answers, rubbing a hand on the back of his neck. "That was…that was—wow. Good. It was good."

Cas hums a laugh. "Yeah it was."

He sits up and grabs his glasses from the nightstand and gets out of the bed, walking over to where he discarded his boxers. He pulls them on. Dean watches him as he slips out of his room and over the hallway into the bathroom. He stands in front of the small countertop sink and stares at himself in the mirror, noticing a purple ring forming on his shoulder—the mouth of Dean Winchester.

He takes a piss and washes his hands. He walks back over to Dean's room without looking at the people in the basement, hoping no one sees him. When he opens the door, Dean has his bare back turned towards him, picking up a shirt. Castiel now sees what was hiding underneath his shirt: it is a tattoo of a phoenix spread across his back, the wings stretching up to his shoulders, the colours deep reds and oranges—and it's beautiful.

"That's a nice tattoo," Castiel says as he shuts the door.

"What? Oh—thanks," Dean replies somewhat distantly. It makes Castiel perplexed, as Dean seemed fine only moments ago. Dean doesn't say anything else about the tattoo.

Castiel crosses the floor to Dean's bed and sits on the edge, bending over to pick up his jeans and pulls them on. Dean tosses him his t-shirt and he sits with it in his hands, adjusting the fabric.

He watches as Dean dresses himself, not paying Castiel much attention.

"I should probably go," Cas tells him.

Dean clears his throat and nods, "Okay."

Castiel stands up and hastily pulls his shirt on, and then rubs his palms on his jeans, nervously. He finds his sweater on the floor and puts it on, readjusting it. Dean mindlessly starts picking up dirty laundry off his floor and throwing into his hamper, and it makes the air between them feel cold and distant.

"Uhm, thanks for…tonight," Castiel mumbles.

"Yeah," Dean replies, seemingly uninterested and detached. Did Cas do something wrong?

Castiel hesitates, unsure, wanting to ask—but thinks better of it. He turns and opens the door, leaving Dean behind.

Fuck, he thinks.I fucked up.

He rushes up the stairs and puts his shoes on, leaving without saying goodbye.

When he gets back to his apartment, he showers because it's the only thing that he can think of that'll make him feel better. He washes himself of Dean and the mistake of him going back there. He rubs his eyes and sighs, knowing that he can never go back. When he gets out of the shower, he brushes his teeth and puts on his pyjamas that he left on the bathroom floor earlier. He crawls into his cold and empty bed, ignoring the time on his clock and drifts in and out of a restless sleep.


	3. O Brother, Where Art Thou?

"O Brother, Where Art Thou?"

The soft morning light hits Dean's face when he turns onto his back. He rubs his eyes and squints, glancing at the empty space in his bed. He decides not to feel the loneliness. He checks his phone for the time and groans. Not even fucking 8:00. He sighs and tries to fall back asleep, but it's no use; he's awake. He sits up and scratches the back of his head and rubs a hand along the stubble on his jaw.

The house is quiet when he opens his bedroom door. He glances down the hall and sees the basement still a mess from last night's party. There are some people sleeping on the couches and the floor; someone is sleeping on the pool table which doesn't make Dean impressed, but he crosses the hall and slips into the bathroom.

He grimaces when he turns on the light, an instant headache at the front of his skull. He looks around the bathroom and frowns. It's a mess. There are ashes on the counter as well as in the sink, an unfinished line of coke that makes Dean's stomach turn, and a used condom lying over the trashcan. He's pretty sure there's puke along the edge of the toilet seat.

Nice.

He turns to start the shower, pulling back the curtain to see someone passed out in the tub. He jumps back, startled, his elbow hitting the towel rack. The person wakes up abruptly when the metal rod crashes to the floor.

"Jesus Christ! What the fuck are you doing?" Dean exclaims. "Get the fuck out of my bathroom!"

The guy crawls out of the tub hastily and shuffles his way around Dean and out of the bathroom, leaving the door open. Dean slams it shut, not caring about anyone else in the basement. He clenches his fists and rubs a hand over his face. He sighs as he grabs a bottle of cleaning solution and cloths from the cupboard under the sink. He cleans the entire bathroom before he starts a shower.

This is not what he had in mind for his Sunday morning.

He steps into the tub and leans into the water, letting it warm his body. It hits his back, hot like fire, and he thinks of the tattoo on his back—the phoenix, reborn from the ashes; ablaze. He suddenly feels a pang of guilt for treating Castiel so coldly last night.

Fuck, he still doesn't have his number.

He takes his time washing up and gets out of the shower, wrapping a towel around his waist, and brushes his teeth before making his way back to his room. He sifts through the 'clean' pile of clothes on the floor in search of a shirt, when his phone starts buzzing on his bed.

JOHN WINCHESTER CALLING.

Dean frowns and almost thinks about not answering it. He swipes open the call.

"Hello?" he grunts.

"Hey Dean," his father says gruffly in reply. He coughs on the other end and Dean knows he's smoking a cigarette.

"What," Dean answers bluntly, picking up a white t-shirt and throwing in on quickly, passing over his phone between hands as he slides through the sleeves.

"What, your old man can't call you?"

Dean rolls his eyes. "Not when he doesn't need something. What is it?"

"Nothing, just calling to say hi."

"It's 9:00 AM on a fucking Sunday, you never just 'call', John."

Dean knows how much his father hates it when he calls him by his first name, but he does it anyways.

"Son, I'm your father. Just—just let me call my boy, alright?"

Dean huffs out a breath of air as he pulls on a pair of sweatpants. "You have another son too, by the way. Maybe you could give him the courtesy—you know, for once."

The line on the other end is silent for a moment. John sighs.

"That's why I called, Dean. Have you talked to him?"

Dean puts on a pair of socks, holding the phone between his cheek and shoulder.

"No, I haven't. Why do you suddenly care?"

"I'm not allowed to care?"

Dean grabs the phone and closes his eyes, throwing his head back in frustration. He rubs a finger along his brow.

"Dad, I don't feel like having this conversation right now, okay? I haven't heard from Sam since he got out of rehab—I have no idea where he is. I've tried calling him, texting him, and I don't know, he's not answering. And it won't do him much good knowing that you're trying to get ahold of him, so I would stop trying if I were you."

"Dean, I want to help him."

Anger flashes through Dean's core. "Oh yeah?" His voice his stone cold.

"Yes, Dean. I do."

Dean doesn't need this. It's early and he doesn't need his father pretending to care, like he always does—he just doesn't need it.

He hesitates before he grits through his teeth, "Well maybe you should've fucking thought of that when we were kids before your fists turned him into a fucking junkie."

He hangs up the phone and knows his father won't call back.

Sundays for the gang are usually hangover recovery days, as well as trying to make the house look back to normal for the week. Benny and his wife Andrea live upstairs, and Dean gets the basement to himself, but often sacrifices it for the parties. He's slowly starting to feel too old for this—even if he's only 26.

By 11:00 AM, Dean has kicked everyone out of his basement and cleaned every inch and corner. He doesn't care much about his room being a mess, but his shared space? It needs to be clean. He had two trash bags full of empty beer bottles and cans, and had to empty the vacuum twice before he was satisfied with the result. He's still thinking about the line of coke on the bathroom counter, when he slowly makes his way upstairs. He finds Benny and Andrea sitting at their kitchen table with cups of coffee. The sight of coffee eradicates his thoughts.

Charlie is asleep on the couch and Dean walks over and kicks at her foot.

"Mornin' princess," he says.

She stirs and squints up at him.

"What time is it?" she whines.

"It's just after 11:00."

Charlie groans and attempts to bury herself in the covers but Dean tugs them off.

"C'mon, get up. Let's make some breakfast."

She sits up and Dean laughs at her hair, which is respectably standing up on one side. Her makeup is smeared along her left cheek. Charlie glares at him and saunters over to the bathroom. Dean turns and walks back into the kitchen.

"How you feelin' brother?" Benny asks him as Dean sits beside him at the table. He passes over a mug of coffee, which Dean graciously accepts.

"Better than yesterday actually," Dean admits, taking a sip. "Didn't get too crazy last night so that helped."

"Well that makes one of us," Benny grunts into his coffee.

"Two of us," Andrea reminds him. "You're forgetting I can't drink."

Dean glances at her and smiles softly. Andrea is pregnant, and it's been the best news Dean's had for a while. He takes another sip of his coffee and tries to think of the good days he had as a kid but doesn't dwell on the lack thereof.

Charlie emerges from the bathroom looking more fresh faced and awake. She pours herself a cup of coffee and sits at the other end of the table, next to Andrea. Everyone is tired, and Dean half thinks about crawling back to bed, but he knows he can't.

"Hey uh, Charlie?" Dean starts. Charlie looks up at him from her cup with questioning eyes. Dean clears his throat. "Do you—uh, do you think you could give me a ride today?"

She furrows her brows in thought. "Hey, wait—you haven't had your car for like, a few months. What happened to it?"

Dean frowns. "It's been uh—it's in the shop," he lies. "It's a long story. But could you give me a ride?"

"Yeah, of course Dean," she nods; Dean can see she doesn't fully believe him but he's grateful she doesn't pry.

They make a (very) late breakfast and Dean and Charlie help clean up the rest of the house before they leave, even though Andrea insists that they don't have to.

"Come on you guys," Dean argues lightly, picking up an empty beer box and folding it down against thigh. "You let me live here for next to nothing. The least I can do is help."

"And I can't leave without him, sooo I might as well help," Charlie agrees with a laugh, shouting when Dean whips the folded cardboard at her like a frisbee.

It's nearly 3:00 PM when they finally leave, Dean squeezing into the passenger side of Charlie's yellow VW Bug and readjusting himself comfortably. Charlie plugs in her phone and puts some music on in the background before they pull out of Benny's driveway.

"So," Charlie sing-songs. "Where am I taking you?"

"Just head west on 16th," Dean grunts.

"Alright."

Charlie turns right on Trimble Street and waits at the the corner of 16th Avenue to turn. Dean stares out the passenger window, watching as each car passes by them. He rests his elbow on the arm rest of the door and chews at the hangnail on his thumb. When they finally have an opening in traffic, Charlie turns right and they make their way down 16th Ave.

"Turn right," Dean tells her. Charlie obeys and turns.

They pass rows and rows of houses, some big and newly added to the neighbourhood, and some old and decrepit that should probably be demolished. Dean nearly gets lost in looking before he realizes where they are.

"Oh, turn left."

Charlie slows down quickly and gives Dean a side-eye glance and a frown before turning.

"And then turn left on Queensland Road," Dean pauses as Charlie turns. "You can just stop here, actually."

"Where are we?"

Dean undoes his seatbelt buckle and opens the door, swinging a leg out.

"Nowhere. Thanks for the ride Charlie."

He stands up and shuts the door, about to turn and walk down the street when Charlie leans over the passenger seat and rolls down the window.

"Dean," she calls out.

"What?" Dean stops.

She frowns. "Is everything okay? You seemed a little off this morning. I just want to make sure you're alright."

"I'm fine Charlie. I'm just going to see someone." He doesn't know why he can't tell her, but he feels it's just better this way that nobody knows. Not even his father.

"Did you want me to wait here for you? I don't mind."

"Thanks but, I don't know how long I'm going to be. It's just better that I catch a cab on the way back. Or I'll walk—it's really not that far; probably wouldn't even take me half an hour, if I ran." He tries to give her a cheeky grin.

Charlie frowns again, and Dean knows that she knows he won't leave his spot on the sidewalk until she drives away. She looks at him for a few moments to try and test the assumption, but eventually sighs and puts the car in drive and turns around, going back out the way they came. Dean watches her drive back down the road before turning to walk down the street.

The sun is out for once and it's warm on Dean's face. He passes some nice houses, one that's still being built and will be a very modern home—expensive too, no doubt. He stops when he comes up to a smaller home on the right side of the street. It has ivy vines crawling up the front of the house, nearly enveloping the picture window. The stairs need to be repainted and the grass is a dull brown—clear signs of negligence. There are weeds growing between the cracks of the sidewalk going up to the house. Dean scuffs his shoe along the concrete and kicks at a rock, his hands in his pockets. He walks up the creaky steps and knocks on the glass part of the screen door. It rattles.

He waits a minute before knocking again, a bit harder. There's some scuffling behind the closed front door, and it opens. Dean stares at a girl he's never seen before with long dark hair and a petite body. She is braless, and the thin tank top she's wearing is sheer against her breasts. She's also only wearing a thong that is hardly covered by her shirt. Her makeup is slightly smudged under her eyes and her hair is a little unkempt. Her eyes are wide, the pupils blown; she's high.

This already doesn't look good. Dean clears his throat.

"Is uh—is Sam here?"

The girl looks up at him, curious—but that could just be the drugs.

"Who are you?" she asks, eyeing him up.

"I—I'm Dean, I'm uh—I'm Sam's brother." She's short enough that it's easy for him to look over her head. "Look, is he here? I can—I can come back later."

She starts to giggle. She opens the screen door and places a hand to his chest and rubs the fabric on his shirt, staring at her own hand. Dean is stood there, frozen. He wants to move back but just stutters.

"Hey—hey, is Sam here?" He grabs her hand gently and it breaks her concentration and she looks up at him.

"Sam?" she questions.

Dean nods. "Yeah, Sam. I'm his brother."

She turns around and leaves the door open. Dean looks around before he steps inside.

His shoes crunch against the tile flooring and the air smells stale like there hasn't been a decent window opened in a year. Dean looks around as he enters what he assumes would be the living room; there's smears on the carpet from dirt covered shoes; the coffee table has empty plastic sandwich bags, broken glass from beer bottles, unfinished lines of coke, spoons, lighters, rolling papers, grinders, bongs and pipes, some used needles; there's a couch pushed against the wall, ratty and overused, and Sam is laying on it with an arm covering his eyes.

"Sammy?" Dean calls, taking huge strides over to, and crouching down at his side. He's about to shake his shoulder when he notices there's a needle in his left arm, a spoon on the floor, and Dean's stomach churns. His heart drops and nose starts to sting as he tries to choke back tears. "S-Sam?"

"He's fine, just let him be."

Dean turns to face a different girl walking into the living room. Her hair is dark like the other girl, about the same height; she looks more put together and aware.

"Are you sure?" His voice is empty. He swallows, looking back at his brother to see that he's breathing, slow and shallow breaths, but breathing nonetheless. "What did he take?"

"Just some heroin, he'll be down from his high in a bit."

"How long's a bit? And who are you?" Dean asks, standing up now, minding Sam's arm hanging over the edge of the couch.

"My name's Meg," she answers, sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table. She starts to roll a joint. "You want one?"

"No, no I don't. I—I want to know if he's gonna be alright—how long as he been out? How much did he take? Wha—"

"Relax man, it's cool."

Dean huffs out a breath. "Cool? It'scool? Look, I don't know how well you know my brother, but he just got out of rehab, okay? Like two months ago and he's—he's not even supposed tobe here, alright?"

Meg lights up, sucking back the heat and blowing it up at him. Dean closes his eyes in frustration.

"Just have a seat, and relax. He'll be up in no time." Meg points to the reclining chair beside the couch and Dean frowns. He crosses his arms to his chest but doesn't leave his brother's side.

Meg finishes the joint before saying anything else to him.

"So you're his brother?" She pushes the stub of the joint into an empty beer can and blows out the rest of her high. "I've heard about you."

Dean doesn't say anything. By this point, he's sitting on the floor between the table and the couch, his eyes never leaving the needle in Sam's arm. He has one knee up to his chest and his elbow resting on top.

"He talks about you every once and a while," she continues. "Says how you're in a hotshot band and you're gonna make it big."

Dean closes his eyes to try and avoid the tears he can feel starting to surface. His throat is already tightening. Fuck, why can't he be a better brother to Sam? He's off making a name for himself while his brother rots away in a fucking crack house; in and out of rehab or a jail cell—what kind of brother is he?

He sits with the thought of it in his mind for a while, plucking at the hem of his jeans and playing with his shoelaces, until Sam starts to stir.

"Sammy?" Dean pleads, looking up at his brother. He scrambles up onto his knees and waits.

Sam lifts his arm from over his eyes and blinks, looking up—noticeably not looking at anything in particular. He's slow with his movements and nods off again for a few minutes, his arm sinking over his eyes before he completely wakes up.

Slowly, Sam sits up and Dean is washed with relief. Sam's hair brushes over his face when he leans forwards. He's not paying much attention to anything, which makes Dean nervous. Dean watches as Sam rubs his eyes and scratches at his face. His eyes are dark and the pupils are still blown wide. The needle hangs from Sam's forearm and Sam gently pulls it out before looking up at Dean.

"Hey," Dean says with a soft smile, not bothering to mask the worry running through him. He falters when Sam looks right through him. He mindlessly holds onto the syringe. "Sam?"

"Just give him a minute, man," Meg grunts, her lips around another joint, who's now sitting on the recliner, her legs dangling over the armrest.

Dean turns his head to shoot her a glare, but doesn't say anything in response, but does give his brother a minute. Eventually Sam's eyes focus on him and he quirks his head to the side.

"Dean?" he says groggily. The needle nearly rolls out of his hand and Dean quickly takes it and places it on the coffee table.

"Hey, buddy—how's it going?" Dean cradles Sam's cheek with a hand.

"What're you doing here?" Sam tries to stand up but loses his balance slightly and sits back down on the couch, leaning his head against the ratted cushions. Dean moves himself up to sit next to his brother.

"I was just coming to check up on you," Dean answers. He watches Sam warily.

Sam inhales sharply through his nose and coughs once. He rubs at his arm where the needle was. They are quiet for a moment. Dean breaks the silence.

"What's going on, Sam? I thought you were clean." He tries not to sound over-protective and parental, but he can't help it. He pauses before he asks, "What was the point of me putting you through rehab?"

He stares at Sam, waiting for an answer. Sam just stares at his arm. Dean wonders if he's even sober enough to understand what he's saying. He's getting frustrated. He doesn't want to guilt his brother, his imperfect little brother—but he still does.

"You know I sold the Impala right? So that I would have enough money to help put you through? You've been out for what—40 days? How many of those days were you actually clean?" he rambles. "You know I don't have another $6,500 shoved up my ass to help you this time. The program was supposed to help you."

He purses his lips and bites at the insides of his cheeks in frustration.

"What am I gonna do with you, Sammy?"

Sam doesn't say anything, still. He shrugs a reply—which is more than Dean's gotten out of him yet.

"Dad called me today, asking about you," Dean continues. "Told him I hadn't talked you since you got out, which is almost true, considering you don't have the decency to reply to any of my texts—only when you need something, right? Sam, I'm serious—"

"Dean," Sam finally says. It's quiet, and Dean almost misses it, but he stops talking, waiting for his brother to speak. "I'm sorry."

Dean sees a tear drop onto Sam's lap and he sighs and places a hand on Sam's shoulder. He can't stay mad at him, no matter how hard he tries.

"Hey, Sam look at me—it's fine, we'll figure it out okay? Will you at least come and stay with me for a bit?" he asks.

"At Benny's?"

"Yeah. Just to give yourself a break from all this." Dean looks around the room. Meg raises her eyebrows at him but he pretends not to notice.

Sam hesitates. "I don't know, Dean. I don't want to be a burden."

Dean makes a face. "C'mon, Sammy. You know you won't be a burden."

"You had to sell the car, Dean. That seems like a pretty big burden to me."

Dean lowers his eyes. "That's not—that's not a burden, Sam. That's love. Someone's gotta take care of you, hey?"

He looks back up at his brother to find Sam frowning, unconvinced.

"Just come stay for the week, yeah?" he tries again.

"I can't. Not tonight," Sam answers.

"Why not?"

Sam doesn't say anything but he looks up at Meg, who shrugs at him. Dean glances between the two of them.

"Will someone tell me?" Dean snaps.

Meg rolls her eyes and repositions herself, sitting normally in the chair. She leans forward and reaches for the empty beer can to put her second stub in. "He can't leave because he still owes Christian money for the heroin, and Chris said he'll be back tonight and that Sam better have it."

"And?" Dean looks at his brother. "Do you? Have the money? How much you owe him?"

"I have half," Sam mumbles.

"And how much is half?"

"A hundred and fifty."

Dean balks at him. "So you're telling me you owe this guy three hundred fucking dollars?"

Sam cowers and it makes Dean flinch. He's being abrasive. He closes his eyes takes a deep breath and pushes it out through his nose.

"Where's the money?" he asks, throwing out his hands in defeat.

Sam pulls out a wad of cash from his jean pocket and holds it out. Dean grabs it and counts it under his breath; 20, 40, 60, 80, 100, 120, 140, 150. He stands up and grabs his wallet from his back pocket and counts his own, fucking stunned that he manages to have just enough to equal the amount and he throws it on the table.

"Do you know when this guy is supposed to be back?" He looks at Meg.

"Probably not until late tonight. It's hardly 5:00," she replies.

Dean sighs out of frustration and rubs a hand over his forehead. "I'm not waiting around until he gets back and I'm not leaving without you, Sam."

"Give it to Ruby," Sam looks up to tell Meg.

Meg snorts. "Yeah, okay—becausethat's a good idea, Sam. Look, I know she's your girlfriend and everything, but I wouldn't trust her with a fucking dollar, let alone three hundred."

Anger flashes across Sam's face and Dean looks warily between the two of them.

"Admit it," Meg goes on. "I'm right. Just give me the money, I'll make sure Chris gets it."

"And what makes me think I can trust you?" Dean butts in.

"You can't," she smirks. "But like you said—you're not waiting around that long and you're not leaving without Sammy boy here, so looks like I'm your only option."

Dean looks back at Sam, still sitting on the couch. He frowns and picks up the money off the table and leans to hand it to her, his voice deep.

"If this Chris guy comes looking for Sam because he didn't get paid, I will fucking kill you. Do you understand me?" She's about to take it when Dean pulls away. "I'm serious."

She smirks again. "You don't scare me, Winchester."

Dean clenches his jaw. "You don't know me."

She looks up at him, unconvinced, but Dean can see a quiet fear in her eyes that tells him she believes him—even if she says she doesn't. He hands her the money and she takes it. He motions to his brother to stand up and Sam does, slowly. Dean watches him carefully, unsure if they should leave just yet. Sam looks up at him and gives him a reassuring nod.

Once they are outside, they walk down the street, taking their time. Sam has his hands in his coat pockets, and Dean has his in his jean pockets. They are silent for a bit, the sun starting to hang low in the sky.

Sam clears his throat.

"So. How've you been getting around town?" he asks.

Dean shrugs. "Benny's been giving me rides mostly. My friend Charlie gave me a ride here, and everything else has been in company of the band; I take the bus to work, walk everywhere else, so it's not too bad. Getting some exercise, you know."

"How is work going, by the way?" Sam scratches at his arm over his sleeve. The needle entry must be bothering him. He sniffs and rubs his nose, Dean hoping to god he hasn't been snorting anything too. He decides not to comment on it but instead, answers Sam's question.

"It's going. Pretty repetitive. I uh, I actually picked up a second job—well, third if you count the band as one, but yeah—I'm bartending three nights a week at The Bimini." Dean kicks at a rock.

"That sounds like a lot of work, Dean." Sam doesn't sound worried or concerned, but more guilty than anything. "So uh—are we walking all the way back to Benny's?"

"It's not that far," Dean tells him "It's a half hour walk. Help sober you up a little."

Dean looks over at his brother and sees him frowning. He sighs and slaps a hand to Sam's chest. "Hey, don't worry about it okay? I didn't mean it in a bad way—the fresh air'll do you some good. It was stuffy back at that place."

"Are you sure it's gonna be okay that I stay at Benny's? Did you even talk to him about it?"

"Yes, Sam—I did. Before I left, I asked him if it'd be cool if you crashed on the couch downstairs and he said it'd be fine. Dude, come on—don't just shrug your shoulders, I'm serious." Dean pauses. "You know Benny's really the only person I've been able to talk to, and relate to about this stuff. You know—with what happened with his sister and all."

Sam nods. They turn and walk along the sidewalk. They're quiet for a moment, and Dean knows Sam probably doesn't want to hear it, but he says it anyways.

"Don't take this as a bad thing, Sam. We want to help you. And it's not that we think we're better than you or that we know what's best. We want to show you that your life means something to us, and that at the rate you're going, there won't be much of a life left."

They turn and walk the long stretch back towards 15th Ave. When they get back to Benny's, it's nearly 6:00 PM and Benny and Andrea are just sitting down for supper.

"Come on up, you guys. Got some grub here for you." Benny calls.

Usually, Dean eats with Benny and Andrea because it's convenient for everyone since Dean doesn't have a kitchen downstairs. Sometimes Dean cooks, or they each cook something separate. But Dean wasn't expecting this. They take their shoes off and walk up the stairs and into the kitchen, where there's an extra plate beside Dean's; Sam sits after taking his coat off.

Roast chicken and mashed potatoes, a salad, and corn—one of Dean's favourite meals. All home made; Andrea's a peach and Benny is damn lucky to have her. Benny asks how Sam's been, but doesn't ask where he's been; he talks to him like he's a normal person. Sam lies and tells him he's been good, and Benny goes along with it, even though everyone at the table knows it isn't true. It's awkward at first, but Andrea is sweet and offers Sam more chicken.

Later that night, Sam is sitting on the couch downstairs with a blanket and a pillow, and Dean is getting himself ready for bed. He showers and brushes his teeth, and puts on a clean pair of boxers. He gives Sam a change of clothes and lets his brother get ready for bed, leaving him an unpackaged toothbrush.

When Sam emerges, showered and freshly shaven, he doesn't look like the kid Dean picked up earlier today. Dean sits across from him on the other couch, and waits for Sam to make himself comfortable.

"Alright," he starts. "I have to work tomorrow at the boat yard, so you're welcome to just hang out here until I get back. Benny has the day off so he said you can chill with him upstairs if you want."

Sam nods. Dean continues.

"I don't have to bartend tomorrow so I'll be home around 5:00 or so. Let me know if you need anything, and I can pick it up for you, yeah?"

"Sure, Dean."

"Okay. Well, I'm gonna get to bed. You can watch TV if you want, there's Netflix. I need to show you how to work that shit—you're smarter than me."

Dean stands up shuffles his way around the couch and makes his way to his room.

"Let me know if you need anything," he says again.

"Yeah, thanks," Sam replies, and Dean shuts his bedroom door.

Dean hears the TV being turned on and the volume nearly muted. He settles himself in his bed and hears Sam do the same on the couch.

The TV stays on all night.

Dean wakes up at 7:00 and gets ready for his day. He shaves down his stubble along his jaw and brushes his teeth, rubs some pomade in his hair and styles it, even though he'll likely be beneath a boat all day—it's his routine. He emerges from the bathroom at 7:17 and sees that Sam is sound asleep on the couch, the TV still on some infomercial channel. Dean switches it off and heads upstairs to make his breakfast and lunch.

He catches the bus at 7:45, and is at work by 8:10 with twenty minutes to spare—so he eats his breakfast on the dock and waits for Bobby to show up with the keys. He hears the old truck before he even sees it, and gets to his feet, ambling his way to the shop.

"Hey Bobby," he nods at his boss.

"Mornin'," Bobby grunts in response. He holds an aluminum mug that hits the frame of the door as they enter the office of the big red building. The sound the mug makes indicates that Bobby's already finished his coffee, so Dean goes to the small kitchen and starts making a pot. He puts his lunch in the fridge and looks at the day's schedule.

8:40 AM — Fuel Filter Replacement & Oil Change

10:30 AM — Belt Replacement & Battery Test

11:30 AM — Oil Change

1:30 PM — Steering & Hydraulics

2:30 PM — Engine Tune Up & Oil Change.

3:45 PM — Belt Replacement

It should be a relatively easy day, Dean decides. Nothing he hasn't handled before, it should make the day go by fast.

Their other mechanic, Ash, walks in late as usual.

"Dean," he greets.

Dean hums a reply and goes back to check on the coffee.

When the coffee is ready, he pours himself a cup and then walks over to his locker to grab his coveralls. He puts on his steel-toed boots and drudges his way into the shop with his coffee in hand.

The first appointment was easy enough, and didn't take nearly as long as it was scheduled for, so Dean makes another pot of coffee and sits in the staff lounge with the crossword of a newspaper in hand.

"Those are for the customers, boy," Bobby mumbles at him as he passes by.

"This is last week's paper," Dean tells him.

Bobby only grunts something that sounds like, "Get back to work."

So Dean does.

By his last appointment, Dean is wired. Four cups of coffee will do that to a person. He checks the call sheet and glances up from the shop door and freezes. He's about to call the next person, when he sees Castiel sitting with a slim man with dark hair, who can't be much older than Cas. He appears to be arguing with the guy and Dean clears his throat.

"Inias Hirsch?"

Both Castiel and the man look over to him and Dean makes eye contact with Cas and he watches the colour nearly drain from his face. His eyes wide, he starts bickering to Inias in hushed tones, of "Shut up, Inias, I know it's him." and Dean gives Cas a smile as Inias walks up to him with the keys to the boat. Castiel ignores it and Dean pretends not to notice.

He gets the boat into the launch, where the crane operator lifts it onto the dolly and they bring it into the shop. The tune up itself doesn't take long at all; the boat is practically in mint condition. The engine hardly even needed an oil change, but he does it anyways. Inias makes small talk with him, asking him how long he's worked at the boat yard, telling him how the boat is his uncle's, how Castiel has been acting different. Dean thinks it's odd that he mentions the last bit.

"I don't know Cas that well," he grunts to Inias, as he bends over the motor.

Inias doesn't say anything much after that.

When the boat is finished, Dean makes his way back into the office to get the bill ready. Castiel is still sitting in the waiting room, looking more agitated than when Dean first saw him. Inias approaches the counter and pays the fee. They're about to leave when Dean stops them.

"Hey, uhm," he makes an effort not to look at Cas. He grabs one of his cards from behind the counter and a pen. On the card, there's the boat yard number and address, as well as a fax number, and an email. Dean turns over the card and writes his cell number as he walks up to Inias. "If there's any problems with the boat, just give me a call."

Dean hands Inias the card and looks up sheepishly, and then clears his throat as he makes eye contact with Castiel. He gives Cas a smile and turns back to go into the shop. He hears Castiel slap Inias and say, "Shut up, you asshole."

He hears Inias laugh and Dean smiles to himself.

When Dean gets home, Benny greets him at the door. The look on Benny's face doesn't tell Dean anything good.

"Where is he?" Dean asks, deadpanned.

"I don't know," Benny replies honestly.

"What do you mean you don't know?" Dean walks inside and trudges downstairs, not bothering to take his shoes off. "Sammy!"

"He's not down there, Dean. He's not in the house."

"Why didn't you call me?" Dean takes the steps two at a time as he comes back up.

Benny shrugs. "He just left not that long ago. I was in the shitter and heard the door slam; I knew it wasn't you or Andrea, so I thought maybe he just stepped outside—but when I got out of the bathroom, he was gone."

Dean fumes. He pulls out his phone and calls his brother. He gets Sam's voicemail and he leaves a message.

"Sam, where are you? Call me." He hangs up and stuffs his phone back in his pocket. He opens the door and steps back out.

"Where are you going?" Benny calls out.

Dean walks down the sidewalk. "I think I know where he is," he yells back.

He starts to jog down 15th Ave and retraces their walk from yesterday. He's soon running up to the house he picked Sam up from and is banging on the door furiously.

"Sam!" he yells. "Open the door."

Meg answers it, bleary eyed and pale.

"Is he here?" he huffs.

Meg rolls her eyes but opens the door further to let Dean in. Dean marches in to find Sam sitting on the couch with the girl Dean first encountered yesterday. Sam looks up at Dean and falters, slightly, lowering his eyes back down and trying to focus on anything but Dean.

"What are you doing here, Sam?"

When Sam looks back up at him, Dean can see his eyes are red rimmed, and not the kind of red rimmed one gets from crying. Dean pinches the bridge of his nose and sighs audibly.

Sam doesn't answer him.

"I shouldn't have to fucking babysit you. I shouldn't have to have my friends babysit you, Sam. You're damn near 22 years old. You're not a child. Stop acting like one, or Iwill throw you into the rehab facility my damn self, and make sure you're kept there long enough that your friends here? Well they'll be long gone. You'll have no one around to pressure you or make you want to take anything again. You'll just have me. Does that sound like fun?"

Sam glowers at Dean, the guilt turning to anger.

"I mean it, Sam. I will put you back there and you'll get cleaned up—"

"Stop acting like Dad!" Sam shouts. "You said yesterday that it's my life, my choices—that you guys don't want to control me just because you think you know how I should live my own life, but I'm fine on my own. I don't need you."

Dean shuts his mouth. His blood is boiling, his chest heaving as his adrenaline rises.

"You think I'm like Dad?" He walks up closer to Sam, and Sam flinches back. "When have I ever laid a fucking hand on you? When? Because I know I sure as hell haven't. You know what Ido know? Is that I've beenprotecting you from him ever since Mom died. Hell, even before then. With his drinking and his temper—I kept you safe. So don't you dare tell me that I'm acting like him when I've been the only one who's cared about you."

Sam is frozen, staring hopelessly at his brother. Dean doesn't stop.

"But hey, if this is what you want, then fine. It's your life after all." He turns around and storms towards the door. "Don't fucking call me until you've been sober for at least a month."

He opens the door and slams it shut on his way out.

The clouds have started to hang low and he knows it'll be raining by the time he makes it back to Benny's but he doesn't care. He starts to run, without looking back.

He gets home, soaking wet, the rain pouring down. Benny glances at him from the couch as Dean makes his way downstairs to the bathroom. He peels off his sodden t-shirt and hangs it over the towel rack, not caring that it drips onto the floor. He struggles with his jeans, but manages to get them off, inelegantly at best. He takes a hot shower and tries to slow his breathing down, but he can't.

It takes him a moment to realize that he's sobbing.

There's a knock on the bathroom door.

"Dean?" he hears Benny call.

Dean coughs and yells back, "Yeah?"

He tries to ignore how wrecked his voice sounds.

Benny pauses, as if he's unsure whether or not to comment on it. "There's uh—there's some food in the fridge if you want it. You missed supper but I saved you a plate."

"Uh, thanks Benny." Dean wipes his face with his hand.

"Anytime, brother."

Dean finishes his shower, but doesn't go upstairs to eat. He dresses himself and grabs a bottle of whiskey from his bedroom and a glass from the makeshift bar at the corner of the basement. He sits himself on the couch with his guitar that he rarely plays. His callouses on his fingers are almost non-existent.

He picks around for a while, humming out a melody. It's been so long since he's written a song, he doesn't even know where to start. He finishes three glasses of whiskey before he feels good enough about writing. He thinks about Sam. He thinks about his dad, how awful he was to them, and how Dean tried to take most of it off of Sam. He was the one that went to school with cracked ribs and black eyes—not Sam. If teachers asked, he just got into a fight with some kids down the block, nothing serious—even though it was so much more than that.

He thinks of Sam now, even after all that he tried to do for him to keep him safe, keep him normal, and keep him sane—to give him a life and a future; Sam still turned to something else to numb the pain. And even though Dean put him through rehab, it seems as though sobriety is the thing that scares Sam the most. He has nothing to fear, his father doesn't know where he is, he should fine. Except he's not. Not anymore.

Dean wipes the snot dripping from his nose as he starts to cry again. He doesn't even know why he is, he just is. He feels guilt and sadness seep through his bones. He picks up the pen on the coffee table and scribbles onto paper pad sitting next to it.

Scars are souvenirs you never lose, the past is never far.

He thinks about how Sam told everyone that he was gonna make it big in a hotshot band. He writes some more down.

And did you lose yourself somewhere out there? Did you get to be a star?

He works on the song for a few hours, well into the night, and has lost count on the glasses of whiskey that he's had, but the nearly full bottle he once had, sits empty on the floor next to his feet; the glass slips through his hand onto the floor, his whiskey soaking into the carpet, but he's too burnt out to care. He can hardly read what he wrote, and he isn't sure if it's the alcohol blurring his vision or his shitty handwriting.

He checks the time on his phone and it's just after midnight. He looks and sees that he has a few texts from an unknown number. He swipes it open and reads them.

Unknown Number: Hey Dean, it's Castiel. Just wanted to text you and tell you that I really loved getting your dick the other night. Hit me upppp! adsfg3 (11:56 PM)

Unknown Number: OH MY GOD. THAT WAS MY BROTHER. Don't listen to him. (11:57 PM)

Unknown Number: Sorry. (11:57 PM)

Dean stares at the number and rereads the texts.

Dean: Hey Cas, don't worry about it. It's fine. (12:13 AM)

What he doesn't realize, is that it looks something like this:

Dean: ]H ye Cas$ss, donn't woryr abuot it. Its' fnine (12:13 AM)

He rubs his face and can feel the headache starting. His phone buzzes in his hand and he sees a reply.

Unknown Number: Are you drunk? (12:15 AM)

Dean: Hardrly. (12:15 AM)

Unknown Number: Are you okay?(12:16 AM)

Unknown Number: Dean? (12:23 AM)

Dean didn't realize that he had nodded off and grabs his phone from his lap.

Dean: Honestly,no (12:24 AM)

Dean chucks his phone onto the coffee table, along with the pen and paper. He puts his guitar on the floor, leaning it against the couch. He leans back into the cushions and sighs, feeling the room start to spin. He rubs his eyes, but it only makes the sensation worse. He has about 2.5 seconds to get to the bathroom before he throws up. He makes it, but it doesn't make him feel any better. He rinses his mouth with water from the tap and tries to stay vertical.

He stumbles back to the living area and props himself up against the couch. His head is pounding, and he's pretty sure he's not gonna make it to work tomorrow. He at least has the decency to text Ash and tell him that he won't be there in the morning. He'll deal with Bobby later.

He sits on the couch and rubs a hand over his face. He doesn't know how long he is sat there for until he hears a rap against the front door. At first he doesn't think he heard anything, but it comes again. He grunts and drags himself up the stairs, turning on the outdoor light to see a pair of worried eyes staring back at him.

He opens the door and cocks his head to the side.

"Cas?"


End file.
